101 Quizilla Theme Challenge: Axis Powers Hetalia
by justanortherrainyday
Summary: 101 Themes. :D Allll Hetalia characters.
1. 101 Theme Challenge: APH

1. Happy  
>2. Smile<br>3. Don't Go  
>4. Frustrated<br>5. Story  
>6. Empty Threat<br>7. Flower  
>8. House With a Picket Fence<br>9. Fear  
>10. Kiss<br>11. Masquerade  
>12. Wall<br>13. Traitor  
>14. Tell the Truth<br>15. Commitment  
>16. Nightmares<br>17. Dreams  
>18. Soft<br>19. Heal  
>20. Blood<br>21. Death  
>22. Torn<br>23. Promise Me  
>24. Childhood<br>25. Family  
>26. Trust<br>27. Love  
>28. Please<br>29. Thank You  
>30. Like Glass<br>31. Hate  
>32. Murderer<br>33. Illness  
>34. Grave<br>35. Ocean  
>36. Light<br>37. Beautiful  
>38. Pain<br>39. Blind  
>40. Apologize<br>41. Fire  
>42. One Day<br>43. For You  
>44. Photo Album<br>45. Memory  
>46. Hope<br>47. Numb  
>48. Fate<br>49. Alive  
>50. Ice<br>51. Go Down Fighting  
>52. See You in Hell<br>53. Boredom  
>54. Stars<br>55. Darkness  
>56. Food<br>57. Shut Up  
>58. Savior<br>59. Gift  
>60. Music<br>61. Nature  
>62. Pity<br>63. Laugh  
>64. Fun<br>65. If Only  
>66. Rival<br>67. Wish  
>68. Passion<br>69. The Day After Tomorrow  
>70. Movie<br>71. Dance  
>72. Remember When...<br>73. Lies  
>74. Snow<br>75. Comrade  
>76. Sadness<br>77. Thoughts  
>78. Tears<br>79. Eyes  
>80. Zero<br>81. Indestructible  
>82. Beach<br>83. Birthday  
>84. Clueless<br>85. Touch  
>86. Shatter<br>87. Envious  
>88. Proud<br>89. Mother  
>90. Number<br>91. Video Game  
>92. Comfort<br>93. Hug  
>94. Revenge<br>95. Curious  
>96. Adore<br>97. Doubt  
>98. Worry<br>99. Don't Wait Up  
>100. I'll Always Be There For You<br>**101**. All The Small Things


	2. Happy: Greece

1. Happy (Greece)

xXx

Greece opened his door to welcome you inside. It was well into the evening, the stars out and a gleaming moon on its nightly climb into the sky. You yawned slightly, wondering what he could have called you over for at this hour of the night.

"So what's up, Greece?" you asked.

"Hold on...for a minute."

He sat you down on his couch and disappeared into another room. You didn't mind the random call out of the blue. This spontaneous side of Greece intrigued you.

He came back moments later holding a big, thick folded quilt. Placing the heavy blanket into your lap, he plopped down into the couch next to you, smiling at your wide eyes.

"Is this for me?" you asked, opening up the quilt. It was checkered with beautiful patches of purple, dark teal, and dark blue.

"Yes," he said, leaning into you and giving you a kiss on the cheek. "Happy birthday...[Name]. I know it gets cold...where you live...so I got you a blanket."

Blushing, you snuggled in closer to Greece, pulling the quilt over the both of you. He gladly nuzzled his nose into your neck.

"I...love you," he murmured.

Closing your sleepy eyes, you whispered, "I love you, too."

xXx


	3. Smile: Germany

2. Smile (Germany)

xXx

"Oh! A butterfly!" Italy exclaimed and then proceeded to chase after it.

Germany face-palmed, groaning. He was wasting time, _baby-sitting_ this idiot! There were plans he had to make, meetings he'd rather go to. And yet somehow, he was stuck here with the airheaded Italian, forced to watch over him.

At least, that was what you gathered by looking at his face as you approached the irked German. You really liked Germany, despite your tough demeanor and efforts to hide it. So you decided to cut the poor man a break.

"Hey, Germany," you said, walking up to him. "Do you mind if a borrowed Italy for something?"

A flash of relief passed quickly across his face, and then suspicion.

"What for?"

"Oh, I just needed someone to help me clean the house. And I wanted him to help me make pasta for dinner."

Germany felt a surge of jealously toward the bright Italian. What made him so desirable?

"I could help you," he offered.

You were flattered, but refused, "No, I'm sure you have work to do, Germany. I wouldn't want to be a bother."

"You wouldn't be bothering me," he tried to persuade you without looking too desperate. Truth is, he came out here to talk to Italy because he had nothing to do. And now that [Name] had showed up…

…well, the situation just got better.

"Are you sure? That would be a huge help," you said, giving him your best smile.

The smile made his heart flutter. "U-Um, ja. I don't mind."

"Great! Come on, let's go."

As you eagerly pulled him by the arm, Germany took one last glance at Italy behind him. Italy caught his eyes and gave the blonde a big, knowing smile and a thumbs up.

He guessed love was one of the few things Italy had a good hand in.

xXx

As the two of you cleared up the cluttered living room (one look at it, and Germany was dismayed), he stumbled upon a box filled with rope, a whip, and a pair of handcuffs.

"…[Name]? Could you come here for a moment?"

xXx


	4. Don't Go: Prussia

3. Don't Go (Prussia)

xXx

Prussia rushed down the stairs, stumbling in nothing but his bright red boxers. "[Name]!" he shouted in a panic into the hallway.

"Yeah?" you called.

To his utter relief, he found you still in the house, munching on some cereal and milk on the kitchen counter. You noticed him leaning against the doorway, shirtless, and choked.

"P-Prussia," you said, swallowing the cereal as best as you could. "What's the rush?"

He eyed your pulled back hair, the military cap on your head, the high-laced boots resting on the metal rungs of the stool. Angrily, and a little hurt, he pointed an accusing finger at you.

"You're going off to fight again, aren't you?" he accused.

You stared at the milk in your empty bowl. In guilty silence, you got up from the stool and brought the bowl over to the sink.

"[Name]…"

Finally, you turned around with a grin on your face. "Why so worried, Prussia? You look like you're about to have a heart attack," you teased.

Prussia didn't smile back like you predicted. Instead, he came close and pushed his face into your neck, tightly wrapping his arms around your waist. You put your arms around him and held him close without saying a word. His body was so warm.

"It's just standard procedure," you lied in his ear. "I'm not going to anything major."

You couldn't see the pained expression in his eyes when he said lightly, "Oh, really?"

"Yeah." You pulled away slightly, his chest still firmly glured to yours. Smiling lovingly at him, your fingers played with the locks of hair near his eyes. "I promise to be home by tomorrow night. Don't drink all the beer while I'm gone. You save some for me, ya hear?"

"…fine," he mumbled, reluctantly letting you go. Prussia and you walked slowly to the front door, neither of you wanting these few precious moments together to come to an end. Rest assured, though. He didn't let go of you until the end.

"I have to do this," you said gently, yet steadily. "You know how I have to protect you."

He groaned. "But that's supposed to be the man's job."

"With your country in ruins? I think not, Mr. Awesome."

He scoffed, but that was the extent of his argument right now.

"Come back soon, [Name]."

Lightly kissing him on the cheeks, you smiled reassuringly.

"I will."

xXx


	5. Frustrated: South Italy

4. Frustrated (South Italy)

xXx

Romano didn't understand you. One moment you're skipping up to him and his brother, smiling cheerily and happy like sunshine and daises, the next you're completely ignoring him and flirting with his idiot _fratello. _Do you find pleasure in teasing his Italian sensors for love? Why—dammit—was Veneziano getting more attention from you than him?

You, on the other hand, were pleased to see your plan working wonders on Romano's jealously. Ever since you started flirting with his brother, _he_ had stopped flirting with other girls and dedicated more of his time yelling at you.

And then came the day he finally snapped completely.

"[Name]! [Name]!" Italy cried. "Doitsu didn't give me a kiss!"

"Aww, poor thing," you cooed. "Don't worry, Germany doesn't really give free kisses to people."

He looked up at you with hopeful eyes. "[Name] will give me a kiss, right?"

"FUCK NO!"

Out of nowhere, Romano suddenly materialized next to you, face as red as a tomato. To your surprise (and secret glee), he grabbed your hand and roughly dragged you away from his brother. You stumbled as he tugged you into a different set of hallways.

"R-Romano!" you said. "Wait—stop! Where are we going?"

Finally, he stopped in an empty alcove in the hall and pushed you against it, slamming his mouth against yours and extracting a kiss from your lips. Unlike any other girl though, you were fully prepared for this action and closed your eyes, kissing back just as passionately.

When the two of you pulled away, you found Romano gazing intensely into your eyes.

"Took you long enough," you teased. "I nearly resorted to asking Veneziano out on a date to get you to—"

He shut you up with another kiss. And by the hungry look in his eyes, you guessed that there was plenty more desirous kissing to come.

xXx


	6. Story: Russia

5. Story (Russia)

xXx

Everyone thinks that Russia is prompt to a fault.

Despite this widely accepted belief, Russia is _not_ prompt.

He is a half-an-hour early.

"[Name]!" came a deceivingly happy voice. "I didn't know you had permission to enter my house."

You jumped, startled. When did he get back?

"Haha," you laughed nervously. "See, that's a funny story…"

Russia's study seemed to drop below freezing level as the intimidating nation leered forward menacingly. His chilling smile urged you to continue.

"Um, well, Lithuania let me in—"

"Wrong answer. Lithuania isn't here," he stopped you, leaning closer.

You tried again. "The door was open—"

"The door is never open."

"The voices in my head told me to!"

_BAM. _His palm slammed against the wall, much too close to your face for your own comfort. The other hand suddenly clenched the collar of your shirt and lifted you up a little, forcing you to look up into his piercingly violet eyes.

"One last chance, [Name]," he murmured into your ear. "Why are you here?"

"Okay, fine!" you said hurriedly. "See, I was on my way home when I heard this voice calling for help from my yard, so I walked through my garden and found this weird leprechaun guy sitting on a giant mushroom in the middle of my yard! He told me that he laid a curse on me because I killed a hill of ants yesterday and then disappeared! But just when I was about to go inside, a pixie fairy girl came along and told me she saw the whole thing, and said if I could somehow cancel the leprechaun's evil aura out with something even more evil, then I'll be able to lift the curse! So the pixie unlocked your door for me and I tried to find a bottle of your vodka so I could drink it and undo the curse!"

A long moment of awkward silence.

In one movement, Russia threw you over his shoulder and headed toward the bedroom.

"It's time for your punishment, da?" he said, opening the door.

You flailed around uselessly. "Wait! Okay, I lied! America dared me to! It's his fault!"

"It's too late now~"

"Nooo!"

xXx

"B-Belarus!"

"AHH! WHERE?"

While he was distracted, you took the chance to escape from both Russia and his house. From there, you took the first plane to America, where, you proceeded to punch him in the face immediately.

"What the hell was that for, [Name]?"

"YOU ALMOST GOT ME RAPED BY RUSSIA!" ;A;

xXx


	7. Empty Threat: Spain

6. Empty Threat (Spain)

xXx

Your brother was dead. And it was his ill-fated destiny to be killed by the only man you ever loved—Spain.

"[Name]—"

"SHUT UP!" you screamed at him, the tears streaming down your face. "I DON'T WANT TO HEAR IT! GET AWAY FROM ME, YOU…YOU…MONSTER!"

He tried to hold your shoulders, but you roughly shoved him away, a ferocious rage burning in your eyes. You looked at him with utter hate. Hate, he saw, and…pain. Raw pain.

"_Cariño_—"

"STOP IT!" you continued to scream. "You killed him. I can't believe you killed him. My brother…"

Spain was being too hasty. He couldn't take the look in your eyes. That feeling of hurt and betrayal; it was something he would rather die than inflict you with.

"He was planning to kill you," he urged. "I saw his plans, [Name]. That man was going to turn around and stab you in the back! I did the only thing I could do—"

"Stop it," you said again. Spain winced at the heaviness of your agony as you stood in the middle of the room, like a pillar of misery about to come crumbling down. "You think—hic—I didn't already know that?" Your heart squeezed painfully. Right, you had known from the start. The late night outs, the lies he told you, the people that have been following you. You had known all along that your nation-brother was plotting to kill you. And despite your best efforts to stop it, nothing went right.

It was only a matter of time before something terrible happened.

Nothing mattered though. You still loved him, looked up to him so much. It was hard to believe someone so trustworthy was so evil.

Just as you were about to collapse, Spain suddenly appeared next to you, gently pressing your crying figure to his steady stature.

"Shhh," he whispered. "I'm so sorry, _mi amor_…please don't cry…"

Not caring if your running tears ruined his shirt, you whimpered, "I hate you, Spain. You killed him. I h-hate you so m-much. I'll _kill_ you…" Sentences and words blended together, until all of your threats dribbled into incoherent crying.

It didn't matter what you said, however. Both of you could easily tell that your words were just empty threats.

All you could do was hold onto him as tightly as you could.

xXx


	8. Flower: Switzerland

7. Flower (Switzerland)

xXx

"Ugh!" you groaned, stomping loudly through the hallway toward your office. Anyone that made the mistake of running into you panicked and gave you a wide berth. Anger and annoyance rolled off of you like an evil aura. It could've easily matched Russia's.

"Stupid boss, thinking he can just be an asshole and get away with it," you muttered.

Locking the door to your office behind you, you fell into your comfy office couch, exhausted. Just when you were about to drift off into slumber, your phone rang.

_Ring, ring. Ring, ring._

"Hello?" you said tiredly. "This is [Name]."

"[Name]!" said a familiar voice. It was Liechtenstein, your friend. "I'm so sorry for bothering you. Are you busy right now?"

Even though she couldn't see, you smiled. "Oh no," you said. "Did you need something?"

"Do you have a favorite flower?"

"I like roses," you answered. "Why?"

"Just curious," she said quickly. "Um, I'll see you later, [Name]."

She hung up.

Huh. That was odd.

xXx

"That effing asshole son of a bitch ARGH!" you vented at your steering wheel. "Fucking bald man trying to grow some nonexistent hair. What a jerk."

Freeing your hair from its business-like grasp, you let your hair fly wild and free in the wind. As you pulled into your driveway, you noticed someone standing in front of your front door.

Your car headlights revealed the figure to be Switzerland.

He was in a tux.

Oh God, he looked hot.

You waved to him and parked your car.

"What's up, Vash?" you said happily, letting his human name slip as you approached him. "Going somewhere special tonight?"

"Here," he muttered, shoving a bouquet of roses at you (which you stumbled to catch). "You're free tonight, right? I've got reservations for dinner."

You hid your blush by breathing in the scent of the rose bouquet. Suddenly, you giggled.

"Is this your way of asking me out on a date?"

"Wh-What?" Switzerland stuttered. "I—"

You interrupted by going inside your house. "Okay, give me a few minutes to get ready. I'll be out in a sec."

While you ran inside to comb that mess you called hair, Switzerland breathed out a big sigh of relief. Phase 1 was complete. Now, he just had to calm down his nerves and get through dinner without turning [Name] off.

*nudge* *nudge* *wink* *wink*

His sister texted him.

_Good luck brother!_

He didn't have to worry. You were more than willing.

:9

xXx


	9. House With A Picket Fence: ?

8. House With a Picket Fence (?)

xXx

He and you were never destined to be together. When you finally broke away from him, it was like a weight was lifted off your shoulders. There was no way you could've endured a lifetime with him fooling around with other girls, giving them flirty looks and buying them drinks at the bar. When the two of you were alone, he could be sweet. But you knew there wasn't enough love to fill the gaps in between, so you broke it off early.

Though he felt the same way, he couldn't help but feel hurt. In the name of love, he let you slip through his fingers and find a man that could love you the way he couldn't.

The two of you never spoke to each other again after the marriage.

You're still in his thoughts, though, did you know? Oh, don't worry. He moved on long ago; found a girl, married her, had a kid. Nevertheless, the image of you still lingers in his mind.

Sometimes when he sees his wedding band, he thinks of the diamond ring around your finger.

Sometimes when he gets a little too tipsy, he thinks of the first night he met you (he had tried to hit on you, and then was promptly drowned with a pitcher of ice cold water).

No matter how much time passes, in his mind you'll always be the girl who lived in the house with the picket fence.

xXx


	10. Fear: America

9. Fear (America)

xXx

Slippery palms. Fast hearbeats. Trembling, you hugged your knees even tighter and sunk back into the couch.

"Oh God, don't go in the cave, don't go in the cave, don't go in the cave," you cried. "No! The monster's in there!"

Right next to you in the dark with only the TV screen as a source of light, America was shaking just as hard as you. "No—Ah! Don't touch the—NO! IT'S THE EYES! THE _EEEEYYYYEEEZZZZ!_"

Deaf to the two of you screaming at her to run away, the poor victimized girl fell right into the monster's trap. America and you yelped at the same time.

"OH MY GOD, HOLD ME [NAME]!"

"AMERICA, SAVE ME!"

Squealing (like little girls, jeez), the two of you flew at each other in syncronization, causing the both of you to crash into each other onto the floor in a tangle of limbs and legs.

Movie completely forgotten, America gazed at you. The light of the TV glared on your eyes.

"You know," he whispered to you, "this isn't so bad."

You giggled and wraped your arms around his neck, bringing him closer. "I like the sound of that."

A heartbeat later, his lips crashed into yours, ensuing a very heated battle of wrestling on the living room floor.

xXx

"A-America?"

"Y-Yeah?"

"Can you turn off the TV?"

Pause.

"But the remote's all the over—"

"Damn it, America! I refuse to do it with you while that poor girl is being eaten alive!"

xXx


	11. Kiss: North Italy

10. Kiss (North Italy)

xXx

When Feliciano had asked if you wanted to catch dinner with him afterschool, you thought it was just gonna be a quick take-out from McDonalds and some fun porkin' out in your best friend's hot Italian Ferrari F430 while listening to your favorite radio channels.

To your surprise, the two of you didn't stop at a fast-food joint. He drove you through the city streets and took you to a full on gorgeous Italian restaurant—the classiest restaurant in the whole city.

"Feliciano," you said in wonder as the valet helped you out of the car. "What's this all about?"

Your happy-go-lucky buddy just gave you an adorable smile and started talking about school as he led you inside. Once you saw all the richly dressed customers dining in the dimly lit restaurant, you felt very childish in your simple t-shirt and jeans. The waitress showed the two of you a private table and left you alone.

Feliciano noticed you tugging at the collar of your shirt.

"Are you okay, pretty lady?" he asked, using his favorite nickname for you.

You smiled sheepishly. "It's nothing, I'm just feeling a little…underdressed. But thank you for bringing me here!" you said quickly. "To be honest, I'm really surprised."

Giving you a blissful smile, Feliciano said, "You're welcome pretty lady~ And it doesn't matter what you're wearing, [Name]. You're already beautiful to me."

Your heart skipped a beat at his words. Maybe…just maybe after all this time, he felt the same way about you?

xXx

After the wonderful dinner, Feliciano took you on a windy ride under a starless sky to the park. The two of you journeyed to the nearest bench and sat down together, telling jokes and stories.

He was giving you all the obvious hints. Now it was your turn to make a move.

"Is there something wrong, _bella_?"

You bashfully faced him on the bench.

"Can I kiss you?" you asked.

"Of course~" was his easy reply.

Moving quickly, you shyly pressed your lips to his, to which he responded by placing his soothing hands on yours and sweetly kissing back. With closed eyes, the two of you kissed until you were forced to part for air.

"I love you, _bella_," Feliciano chirped, nuzzling your cheek.

You smiled happily to yourself. "Love you too, Feliciano."

xXx


	12. Masquerade: Lithuania

11. Masquerade (Lithuania)

xXx

_You are at a masquerade party, and everyone is wearing some sort of disguise. A full mask of jewels and pretty patterns hides you. The only visible part of your face is your eyes, which glitter mysteriously under the glow of the chandeliers. _

_You are but a ghostly figure in the midst of this gorgeous chaos of dancers. No one notices you. It's as if everyone is off in their own world. _

_That is, until you catch someone's eye. Across the room is a man behind a politely smiling cover, and while dreamily browsing around, he suddenly locks gazes with you. _

_From where you stand, you can barely see his eyes. So you cross the room over to him. He meets you halfway, just as curious. _

_Without a word, the two of you begin to dance. It is a long, continuous dance. His arms hold you tenderly, like a lover's, and you twirl by his hands gracefully._

_Soon, it is just the two of you, lost in a fairytale of your own, dancing the night away. Finally, when the music faded into silence, the two of you stop in the middle of the floor. The toll for midnight has struck. _

_The party is over. You lift your hands to your stranger's face to remove his mask and reveal his identity. At the same time, his warm hands are touching the bare skin on the edges of your mask, slowly pulling your disguise off. _

The dream ended.

It always ended there.

xXx

"…okay, I'll email it to you tomorrow….No, I can't today. I've got somewhere to go right now," you lied into your phone. "…yes I understand. Yes. I'll call Jenn when I finish the report. Okay. Bye."

Throwing your phone onto your bed, you abandoned all agonizing thoughts of work and slipped on your favorite t-shirt and jeans. So far, life was a bitchy migraine that just kept coming back. Not that you were to judge, though, seeing that you were just a few months into your new apartment.

"I need a day off," you said to your reflection as you combed your hair. "The stress is killing me."

Money for coffee and laptop in hand, you headed out to your favorite café, where you planned to spend the whole entire day hogging a table and watching the passerby's come and go.

xXx

Sipping your coffee, the door opened once again, bells ringing crisp and clear. You looked up to see who was entering this time, just to be immediately thrown into a state of major déjà vu.

It was the dream all over again.

A young man, not even a year older than you, walked in the café alone. When his eyes looked around briefly, his gaze suddenly met yours, and he froze. You stared at him, memorizing the color of his soft brown hair and kind blue eyes. This was the first time you saw your masked partner without his disguise, and you were definitely not disappointed.

You looked away the same time he averted his eyes to the cashier that called him to order. Maybe you were just hallucinating? No, this was definitely your mysterious stranger.

When the man got his order from the counter (lemon iced tea), he caught your eye again. This time, you gave him a small smile and waved him over. He hesitated for a second. Just when he was about to join you at your table, a boy younger than him peeked in from the front door.

"Toris!" he called. "Hurry up! Eduard's waiting!"

The man—Toris—said, "Okay." Was that disappointment you heard in his voice? Giving you one last look, he left.

You sighed, taking a swig from your lukewarm coffee. What if this was your only chance to meet him?

_Tap, tap_.

You shifted in your chair to see Toris tapping the glass window. He waved his arm, which had been quickly vandalized with sharpie:

_**Tomorrow?**_

You threw him a grin, nodding. He sighed in relief and waved a final goodbye before disappearing around the corner.

Yes, you'd definitely be here tomorrow.

xXx


	13. Wall: Austria

12. Wall (Austria)

xXx

"…dude."

"What?" Austria snapped irritably.

"Where are you going?"

"To the front gate, of course."

You stared at him in disbelief. "You're going _all the way_ to the front of the house just to use to gate, and then come _all the way_ back here to the path? Just climb over the wall! It's like, three feet high."

He snorted as if you were completely clueless. "And why should I dirty myself by doing such a laborious task?"

"What, afraid you'll get your skirts dirty, pretty boy?"

"Says the woman that freaks out every time she sees an insect," he replied as he walked around the wide corner of his estate towards the front entrance.

"Hey!" you protested. "A fear of bugs is completely different from a fear of walls!"

He didn't answer you until he came up on the path, having just exited the gate. You rolled your eyes sarcastically. Aristocratic much?

Austria straightened his coat. "Alright, I am ready. Let's go."

"You're a fucking pansy, you know that right?" you muttered.

Oops. He heard you.

"Really? Judging by the way you act in the bedroom, _I_ don't think I'm a pansy."

A long moment of silence.

"…I cannot believe you just said that."

xXx


	14. Traitor: Canada

13. Traitor (Canada)

xXx

It was free time during PE, and everyone was playing dodge ball. Again. You weren't too fond of accidently beaming people in the face (your notorious pitch was particularly destructive), so this time you sat out.

"Just jump in anytime," Al said, giving you a friendly slap on the back. Your usual dodge ball team had pouted at first, but let it go for now.

Grinning, you wished him luck, "Don't go too overboard like last time, Al. I wouldn't want Vash getting mad at you again for hitting his sister in the face."

He playfully elbowed you. "Will you stop bringing that up? It wasn't that bad."

"He broke your leg. It was pretty brutal, too."

"Hey! Are we going to start this bloody game or what?"

Al rolled his eyes, but complied to your teammate and joined the game. Just before Coach Ludwig could blow his whistle, the gym doors burst open.

"I'm so sorry I'm late!" Mattie panted. "I was—"

"Williams," barked Coach, "red team, now!"

The poor Canadian had to run across the gym, dump his bag in the bleachers, and run to join the red team. On the opposite side of the court from his brother, Al smirked, looking between the two of you and gave you a wink. You glared at him, face heated.

The dodge ball game commenced with a very professional whistle by Coach, and you watched as your stacked team quickly beat the hell out of the red team. Dodge balls and yelps of pain flew everywhere. In just minutes, it was everyone against Mattie.

Al dramatically took center stage and pointed an accusing finger at his brother.

"Your time is up, Mattie!" he shouted. "Surrender now and it shall be a painless defeat!"

Looking quite afraid of the evil faces twirling dodge balls in their hands, but still determined to survive, Mattie declared, "I'm not giving up, Alfred!"

Al's smirk got bigger. "Suit yourself, bro."

As he pulled back his arm to throw the final blow at Mattie, you just couldn't take it anymore. In the blink of an eye, you threw yourself in front of Mattie to protect him from the incoming torpedo of a ball. Everyone froze, shocked, as you landed on the ground—hard.

"[N-Name]!" Mattie cried out.

It was silent for the longest time before you got up from the court floor, evil aura emitting from your very being, dodge ball safely caught in your arms. Your surrounding peers took a fearful step back.

A whistle blew. "Jones, you're out!"

Open-mouthed, Al numbly made his way to the bleachers, the first of the blue team to sit out. You sent an apologetic look to him. He shrugged good-naturedly and gave you his signature thumbs up.

"Nice shot, [Name]!"

"Thanks," you replied, training your eye on your scorned teammates, juggling the dodge ball from hand to hand.

"How could you betray us like zis?" demanded Francis, even more dramatic than Al. "You know zat zis means war!"

You lifted your chin up proudly, a grim look in your eye.

"I'll defend the ones I love 'till the grave, Francis," you said gravely, "even if it means becoming a traitor."

The whole class 'ooo'ed at your line, laughing like this was gonna be a good show now that someone as powerful as you was on Matthew's side.

"Th-Thank you, [Name]—"

You silenced him with a smile. "Don't thank me yet. The battle isn't over."

Matthew prayed that you didn't see how red his face was in that single glance.

"FOR CANADA!" was your war cry into the tough assault that followed.

xXx

The impossible happened.

You won the game even while protecting Mattie. Though, you thought that he turned out to be a huge help in backing you up.

After class when everyone took their shower and congratulated you (you were forgiven by your team), Mattie finally took whatever scraps of courage he had and called out to you as everyone was leaving for lunch.

Smothering the slight blush on your face, you said, "Yes, Mattie?"

"Thank you for helping me," he said shyly, looking down. "I'm sorry you had to go out of your way to do that…"

For a moment, you were quiet. And then:

"What I said before…about defending the ones I love…" You fought the blush. "I was serious."

In an empty hall, Matthew stopped, and you followed suit. He didn't respond to your confession for so long that you just had to look up. It was a good thing you did, too. Else you would've missed the awestruck, jaw-dropped expression on his face (not to mention the heart-stopping hope shining in his eyes).

But all he could stutter was, "U-U-U-Uh…"

"Sha-la-la-la, don't be scared! You got the mood prepared, go on and kiss the girl!" sang a loud voice.

Relief flooded through your nervous veins as you found a momentary distraction.

"Alfred F. Jones!" you yelled. "Go _away!_"

A diabolical laugh. "Get used to it, [Name], since I'm gonna be your brother-in-law soon!"

"_Shut up!_"

Whistles of 'Kiss the Girl' faded away and left the two of you alone.

"Do you…want to go out sometime?" Matthew asked, giving you a small smile that made your heart melt.

"I'd love to, Mattie. I'd love to."

xXx


	15. Tell the Truth: England

14. Tell the Truth (England)

xXx

The moment you walked out of the door, he could tell that the night wouldn't go down smoothly.

"Take that off and try again!" he demanded.

Stomping your foot down like a 2-year old, you snapped, "No!" You crossed your arms under your breasts where they rested sexily exposed by the hot black dress. Somehow even though the skirt ended decently below your thighs, there was something so _dirty_ about the way it curved around your ass.

This was the sixth dinner party in a row that Arthur demanded you changed into something more 'decent.'

And you just about had enough.

"I will _not_ change this dress, Arthur," you declared furiously. "I just so happen to like it."

Intense green eyes battled with your own.

"You're not going out in that, [Name]," he stated, "and that's final. Get back in there and wear the red one you wore last week—"

"I refuse to!" you argued, voice escalating. "What the bloody fuck is wrong with the dress I'm wearing now?"

He glared off to the side, withholding his reason why he didn't want you to go out looking like bloody _sex on legs._ There'd be hell before he'd let any other man see you in this state, damn it!

"Because I—it's not something a lady should wear in public!" he burst.

This was when your eyes narrowed as the argument danced on your last nerves.

"Am I not pretty enough?" you said bitterly. "Is that it, Arthur? I look ugly in this dress, don't I?"

"That's not it, you dimwit. You know you're gorgeous—"

You jabbed a finger into his chest, glaring directly into his eyes. "That's what you tell me every time, you stupid git. And you know what? I don't give a rat's arse what you think right now. What about how I feel, huh? Now days, I don't even feel remotely attractive every time you tell me I'm beautiful 'cause it's the only thing you ever say to me!"

"[N-Name]—"

"Am I not _allowed_ to feel beautiful for myself for once? Is that some sort of rule in your ridiculous etiquette dictionary? What if I'm not dressing up just for you? What if I'm wearing this because I _want_ to look pretty?"

Your words hammered home with the Brit. He wanted to backtrack and save his sorry arse, but somehow he ended up blurting, "What is it with women and _clothes?_"

You snorted, "Well you're certainly not helping when you demand that I go back and change into something that makes me look like your _mother!_ Why is it that you get to walk in the room all striking handsome and I have to walk in second-rate next to you? It's probably some kind of superiority complex you brainless men are born with."

"Well maybe if you'd stop dressing like a bloody fucking _slut_, then something might change!"

His last words echoed throughout the house, fading into complete silence. They threw you into a terrible blender of emotions. Before, you wanted to punch him in the face. Now, you wanted to cry.

And murder him, of course.

Arthur immediately knew the moment he hurt you.

"Oh God…[Name]…"

"Shut up," you spat, stiffly turning toward the bedroom door. Before he could even stutter an apology, you promptly slipped inside and slammed the door behind you, locking it shut.

"[Name]!" he shouted, futilely wrestling with the door knob. "Open the door, [Name]! I'm sorry! Just please open the door?"

There was no answer from you. Just the sound of a muffled sob and you throwing yourself onto the bed.

After a long time of begging you to open the door and blurting out apologies, it was already too late to go to the dinner party. But that didn't matter to anyone anymore. All Arthur knew was that you were crying on the other side of this door and that he had to hold you in his arms.

Your hard-headedness could've compared to the door's resilient stand. Arthur even tried tackling it down, just to painfully run straight into the wood and bruise his shoulder.

Groaning, he hid his head against the door repeatedly. He didn't care about losing the brain cells. He was already stupid.

Wait.

Arthur suddenly leaped up, a determined look in his eyes.

There was one other way he could get the door to open.

xXx

Inside the bedroom, changed into just your undies and a t-shirt, you miserably hugged the cold pillow into your chest to ease yourself. You were probably much harsher than you needed to be. But you couldn't help it. Everything was more vivid—more intense—when it came to Arthur.

Because you loved him that much. And you knew he loved you with just as much sincerity.

The whole argument was stupid now. You regretted ever muttering a word.

A swift, purposeful click at the door caught your attention. Despite yourself, you smiled ruefully into the pillow. Took him long enough to remember he had a lock-picking kit downstairs.

You hugged the pillow even tighter as the lock was undone and the door swung open.

Arthur saw your hunched figure on the bed facing away from him. No, the fact that you were wearing one of his shirts did not go unnoticed. In fact, nothing about you went unnoticed by him.

He had long abandoned his coat and tie in the hall and untucked his white collared shirt. Without saying anything, he climbed onto the bed next to you and embraced you from behind. There was hardly any lighting in the room with the curtains closed.

His touch finally made you cave in. Quietly you abandoned the suffocated pillow, turning over so you could simply lie in his arms, nose to his chest.

"I'm sorry," he murmured.

That was enough for you. "I'm sorry, too."

You heard him let out a ragged sigh. "Every time you come out that door as the sexiest woman on Earth, my first thought is to skip the party and shove you back in here just to take it all off," he admitted, holding you even closer. "You're mine and mine alone, [Name], the same way I'm a slave to your every whimsical command."

You blushed as he ever-so gently rolled over so that he was hovering barely a millimeter over your body and gazed directly into your eyes, a dreamily lustful look in his.

Arthur's fingers sensually traced your sides. "I'm the only man allowed to do this, [Name]," he breathed. "In fact, I'm the only man allowed to even _think_ of doing this to you."

A small smile curved your lips. Arthur thought it made you look strangely…

…delicious.

"How about we take off tomorrow night and catch dinner at the Sheraton?" you suggested with a loving smile. "It'll be just the two of us."

And with that last line, everything was forgiven.

Arthur kissed you tenderly, murmuring against your lips, "I love you, [Name]."

In answer, you heatedly kissed back, wrapping your arms around his neck to wield his body to yours.

_I love you, too, Arthur. _

xXx


	16. Committment: Japan

15. Commitment (Japan)

xXx

Marriage—the ultimate form of commitment.

xXx

"Hey, Kiku?"

"Yes?"

"When we get older, will you marry me?"

Kiku—in the middle of eating his lunch—choked. It was a minute of trying to swallow his food before he could breathe again.

"Wh-Wha-What are you—I don't—[Name]-chan—ah! I meant [Name]-san, I—that isn't—"

His face was red with heat and his dark eyes flickered everywhere but to you. He was so embarrassed that you couldn't help but feel elated. If he was this flustered trying to come up with an answer to your proposal, then that meant that he…

"Calm down, Kiku!" you laughed. "I was just kidding!"

Horrified by his own reaction, Kiku coughed embarrassingly. "D-Don't joke around with these things, [Name]. It's a serious subject."

You were oddly quiet for a moment or two. Kiku watched you, waiting for a reaction.

"[Name]?"

A second later, you grinned evilly. Kiku was suddenly afraid of the gleam in your eye.

Without warning, you pressed your lips against his. Kiku was so stunned that he couldn't move, his eyes wide. All his life, he'd been fantasizing about this moment with you, wondering what it would be like to kiss you. Unfortunately, all this preparation went down the drain as soon as it started.

When you pulled away, the first and only thing he could stutter was, "[N-Name]! That was—I…take responsibility!"

You smiled innocently.

"So does this mean we're getting married?"

xXx


	17. Nightmares: France

16. Nightmares (France)

xXx

France was under the ultimate lockdown by Germany, which meant that you—his most trusted advisor—were also under lockdown. Angry at yourself for being such a careless fool with the war, you had put up a fight till the very end, even when the country you protected had long surrendered.

And now, as part of the arrest, you were beaten bloody and chained to the bed post in your new room, locked in with the very country you pledged your allegiance to.

Chained to the bed.

Locked in with France.

Alone.

One would think that he'd have already had sex with you—be _having_ sex with you every single minute of the day. His character did come off as lecherous and perverted.

But he hasn't even looked you in the eye since the invasion.

You knew it had to be the fact that you failed as the commander of his army. He vouched for you, swearing on his honor that a woman of your totalitarian stature would lead the French to victory. However, all it took was one mistake on your part and the whole country was thrown into chaos.

You believed he hated you.

But he didn't.

He was frustrated that with every night that passed, the bruises on your arms and legs would heal only to be replaced with new ones—larger ones—ones that splotched your war-tough skin and face. The first night you came back—smelling of sex, tears, and alcohol—he'd never felt so powerless. He was a country! A nation! Yet there was nothing he could do for you but welcome you back into your hell hole as the Germans re-chained you to the bed, letting you collapse to the ground, exhausted.

It was a living nightmare for the both of you.

xXx

Ironically, you were caught in a nightmare one night.

Conflicted, you tossed and turned in the sheets, struggling to fight the horrifying images away. You dreamt of France, war-torn and abused, giving you one last smile before being brutally murdered.

It happened in different ways.

The first time, he was shot in the head. The second, the mouth. Thirdly the eye. He was gassed, poisoned, beheaded, executed, stabbed, drowned, and electrocuted. He was tortured and torn limb from limb. In every single death, there was blood. It splattered the floor and the walls, painting the whole nightmare an evil reddish color.

"France…" you muttered in your sleep. "Franc...is…"

Slouched at the desk, France heard you call his name. He walked over to you and pulled the sheets off your face so you could breathe. To his despair, tears were flowing freely out from the corners of your eyes, in contrary to the peacefully sleeping expression on your face. You looked like a broken angel.

"Oh, [Name]," he whispered, running his fingers along the side of your cheek.

"Francis…"

A few moments later, there was a subtle change in your breathing. You suddenly opened your eyes, pupils dilated in fear. The tears stopped sliding down your face. France's amazingly blue eyes gazed sadly into your own.

This surprised you. It was the first time he'd ever looked at you like this. But your surprise quickly passed. You'd rather he have a mysteriously longing look in his eyes than be killed over and over again in your nightmare.

His large, rough hands found your tough ones and intertwined his fingers with yours. Squeezing you reassuringly, he gave you a confident smile.

It looked like the country was starting to see some hope.

Faith brightened in your heart, even in the discouraging darkness.

This time it was easy to smile back.

xXx


	18. Dreams: China

17. Dreams (China)

xXx

"Look, aru. The rabbit is pounding medicine in the sky, [Name]," China said.

"Really?" you hummed.

The two of you breathed in the wintry air and gazed at the magnificent silver moon in the abyssal night sky. The absence of stars in the sky gave the glorious orb even more presence.

"So…what are you going to do now that the war is over?"

You sighed. "My people cannot afford another war any time soon. I think we will have to spend the next decade recovering from the damage. That Treaty of Versailles had better hold up."

"I hope so too, aru."

You glanced sideways at the old, tired nation next to you. It was strange, seeing the youth in his limbs but centuries of history in his eyes.

"What about you, China? Do you have any plans for the future?"

He contemplated this. "I have to settle the tensions and hate in my country. I'm dreading a civil war, aru."

You winced. There were still scars from your own experience of self-conflict.

"If you ever need help, I'll be here for you. I just hope it doesn't come to that."

China's face went a little pink. "Thank you, [Name], aru. Your help would mean a lot to me."

"You're welcome," you said with a smile on your face.

It was a few more moments of peaceful silence before you sighed again. You took China's hand from his lap and held it in your hands, discovering that they were ice cold and trying to warm them up. He seemed to enjoy the intimate gesture.

Closing your eyes, you said to him, "I wish that there were no more wars."

China gazed at you for a long time.

"I don't know if that'll ever come true. But you can still dream, aru."

xXx


	19. Soft: Germany

18. Soft (Germany)

xXx

_Soft, like silk and satiny pillows. _

_Soft, like the heavenly feathers of an angel. _

_Soft, like whispered words said in the quiet of the night._

_Softer than the smooth, gentle petals of a daisy. _

_Softer than the warm flavors of plain chicken broth. _

_As soft as the beats of a butterfly's wings. _

_As soft as clouds lingering in the sky. _

_As soft as, "I love you."_

Germany's face went beet red and he tried to shake off his feelings of longing for you. He pushed himself off the frame of the door and walked over to your sleeping figure on the bed. It was so early in the morning, even the birds weren't awake yet. Germany crouched down so that he was eye level with your eyes. He marveled at how beautiful you were with stray strands of hair falling over your eyes and your mouth parted slightly, breathing quietly.

"[Name]," he mumbled nearly inaudibly. "You're so…"

When he didn't finish, you opened your eyes and smiled sleepily.

"Hm?" you hummed.

Germany nearly fell back in surprise. "A-Ah, you're awake."

"Good morning to you, too. So? What were you going to say to me?"

You found his flustered face adorable he debated whether or not to tell you.

"You're so...soft when you're sleeping."

"Really?" you said in surprise, butterflies fluttering in your stomach. Then you giggled. "That's the oddest compliment you've told me yet."

His face turned even redder. "B-Be quiet. I'm not very good at this."

Your smile got wider. "Not good at what, Germany?"

"You know…" He gestured vaguely with his hands. "You. This. Us."

"Not detailed enough, soldier. Elaaaborate," you drawled.

"I love you," he said quickly. "There. Satisfied?"

You kissed him on the forehead and pulled back to lie on your arms, a content smile peacefully resting on your face.

"Yeah. I'm satisfied."

xXx


	20. Heal: America

19. Heal (America)

xXx

_"[Name]! [Name]!" baby America cried, running for you, nearly tripping over his oversized shoes in the process. "I'm bleeding, [Name]!"_

_As he came nearer, your eyes widened. He got hurt?_

_"Where?"_

_He held out a finger towards you, tears in his little blue eyes. _

_"Look! I got a paper cut…"_

_Despite being the same age, you were sooo much more mature than him. Still…your eyebrows crinkled in deep concern for his paper-torn finger. _

_"Here, I'll make it better," you said, taking his injured hand. In one movement, you stuck his slightly bleeding finger straight in your mouth. His blue eyes froze and his face turned beet red. You sucked on his finger for a few seconds, and then released it. _

_"E-E-Ewwww!" America whined, snatching his hand back from you. "I just got cooties from [Name]!"_

_You pouted, a little cross. What a baby._

xXx

"[Naaaaaaaame]!" cried a distraught voice.

You rinsed your mouth of toothpaste and answered back, "Up here!"

Footsteps by the front door bounded up the stairs and suddenly, America appeared by the bathroom doorway, looking anxious and helpless.

"[Name]," he whined, waving his arm in front of you. "I'm bleeding!"

You caught his flailing hand and inspected it.

"…a paper cut?"

He stared at you like you were completely oblivious.

"_Two_ paper cuts, [Name]," he stressed. "One on these two fingers!"

"…and what do you want me to do about it?"

"Can you kiss it to make it better? Pleeeaaaseee?" He looked at you with puppy-dog eyes.

It's too bad you were immune to such petty tactics. Not that you were going to tell him that…yet.

"Okay," you allowed, giving him a wink. "Close your eyes, sweetie."

Grinning, America shut his eyes tight and held out his finger, expecting to feel a pair of lips enveloping them with sex-inducing saliva and a hot, sexy tongue. Instead, he felt a sudden excruciatingly painful sting that made him hiss.

"OW!" he cried out, eyes opening wide.

You swished the open bottle of rubbing alcohol satisfyingly in your hands. "Ready for the next one, _sweetie?_"

America pouted, childishly glaring off to the side. "Aw, come on, [Name]. You're no fun."

You stuck your tongue out. "I wouldn't want to spread my _cooties_, now would I?"

"I said that once! _Once_, and you continue to use it against me."

You rolled your eyes at Mr. Drama Queen, but reached out to take his hand (much to his surprise). Bringing his finger to your lips, you were aware of his intensely blue eyes watching you very carefully. Slowly—sensually—you ran your tongue along the side of his digit, all the while gazing hazily at him. You took the first half of his finger into your mouth, using your tongue to swirl it around lazily and rub it in an all too obvious mockery of something else. You were pleased to hear a low moan rumble in the back of his throat.

Purposefully ending your 'service' early, you swiftly pulling his finger out with a _pop_. Smirking at his dazed face, you teased, "There ya go, America. I think your finger should feel _much_ better now."

Not missing a beat, he tugged off his glasses and placed them on the bathroom counter, whispering huskily, "Oh, no. I think I need some more attention, Nurse [Name]. Preferably down here."

He pushed you so far back onto the counter that you jumped up to sit on it, giggling like a little girl.

"Nurse [Name]? You've got some sick fetish you're keeping a secret from me, America?"

"Nothing you don't already know about."

"…good point."

xXx


	21. Blood: Russia

20. Blood (Russia)

xXx

The first time he finally snapped was also the first time he met _her_.

Standing in a pool of sticky, red snow, his naïve violet eyes stared in fascination at what he had done. He basked in the ever glow of power, standing tall and menacing over dead corpses lying in the ice (at least, _he _thought he was tall now). He was barely a few centuries old, and had been abused by so many merciless leaders in the past. But now…he was strong.

What he didn't know at the time was that he was also insane.

A crunch of snow startled him, and young Russia whipped around to face his attacker, holding up his plain dagger in defense. He was surprised to find that the intruder was none other than a little girl that looked just about the same age as him.

She covered her mouth with her thick mittens.

"Oh, no!" she gasped. "Are you alright?"

Quickly, she ran over to where he stood in the syrupy snow. The girl took out a blue cloth from her coat and started to wipe the dried up blood from his face. Russia found it extremely annoying that this little girl was rubbing a cloth so hard on his cheeks and forhead, but his madness had already faded, and the craze of power he felt before was gone.

Russia carelessly tossed the bloody dagger aside and enjoyed the mothering touches of the girl's hands.

When she was finally satisfied with his cleanliness, she said, "Why don't you come with me? My house is very close."

He followed her, having nothing else to do with his time. The two little children left the dead mess on the ground for the scavengers to feast upon.

xXx

Very warm and very at home, Russia finished his second serving of delicious _borscht._ There was no one else in the strange girl's forest cottage. It looked as if she lived here all alone.

The girl gave him a great big smile and took his dishes to the washing bin. Russia stared after her, eyes terribly sad. He knew exactly how it felt to be alone.

"Thank you," he said graciously. "My name is Ivan. What's your name?"

The girl came back and wiped her soapy hands on her plain dress, a knowing grin on her face.

"My name is [Name]," she said, still smiling. "Are you okay, Ivan? There's a lot of blood on your clothes. You didn't get hurt, did you?"

His eyes watched [Name]'s face very carefully, and then sighed.

"I did that to those men," he admitted tonelessly. "We were walking through the forest and I killed them."

To his surprise, the girl's expression never changed. The smile was still there.

"I know, Russia. I was watching the whole time."

"…Russia? My name is Ivan."

The girl's grin grew. "I know exactly who you are, _Ivan Braginski._ We very similar."

The two young countries stared at each other. To Russia, the solitary walls of [Name]'s confinement suddenly looked extremely suspicious.

"Why did you bring me here?" he demanded, standing up from the wooden table.

For the first time, the girl's smile disappeared, leaving behind not even a shadow of the cheery girl that had been standing before him. Her eyes turned dangerously dark.

"Why are you asking me a question like that? Getting a little nervous, Russia?" When he didn't answer, [Name]'s happy smile came back. "Wait here for a second! I'll go get something!"

She disappeared into the hall and quickly came back before Russia could sneak out the door.

"Here you go!" she cheered, holding out a giant sunflower in her hand. "We're the same, you know? So I know that pretty soon, you're going to be searching for something that will calm you down if you ever lose control. I have my sunflowers to keep me company."

Cautiously, Russia took the thick stem in his hand and held the sunflower to his face. From its petals wafted a scent as light as air.

He looked up to see [Name] gazing at him.

"Thank you," he said. "But I think I have to go now."

His new friend frowned in displeasure. "So soon? You'll come back, won't you?"

Russia sympathized with the loneliness threatened to spill over her eyes and down her cheeks.

"I'll come back tomorrow," he promised. [Name]'s face brightened immensely.

"Have a safe trip home, Ivan!" she called as Russia left the door.

On his way out, he decided to take a quick look around [Name]'s property. He spotted carvings on the front door that marked a house with a family of four. Near the back, he saw a small storage shed. It had a foul, reeking odor.

The blood splattered on the inside of the windows said enough about what happened here, the family that used to live in the cottage [Name] was in right now, and what she meant when she said, _"We're the same, you know?"_

He looked back once, and found [Name] staring at him from her seat by the kitchen window.

It was like an asylum prisoner watching as her only rescuer walked away.

Russia heaved a heavy sigh—much too deep for someone so young—and headed back towards the cottage.

Maybe they could dwell in loneliness together for just a little bit longer…

xXx


	22. Death: Prussia

21. Death (Prussia)

xXx

Prussia took one look at the fish tank and scoffed, "Meh." He stared the goldfish down, red eyes glaring. "Stupid fish. You're lucky it was _[Name]_ who asked me to feed you, or else I wouldn't even give a damn."

Lazily scanning the shelf of assorted bottles and containers, Prussia couldn't tell which one was fish food. He picked up a random one, and after giving its smelly contents a whiff, decided that it was fish grub and dumped the tiny lumps of _stuff_ into the tank. Robby the goldfish immediately swam up to the surface to gobble down its food.

Prussia tossed the container back onto the shelf, slug on his jacket, and showed himself out from your apartment, locking the door behind him.

He didn't have to worry about the stinky fish anymore since you were coming home tomorrow.

xXx

You dumped your bags next to the couch of the living room, yawning deeply as Prussia came in the door and handed your keys back to you. He gave you an impish grin and pulled your body to his.

"You're not too tired, are you?" he said, smirking.

You chuckled, loving the way he was holding you close and rubbing small circles on your aching back. "I think I'll just take a nice, long bath and go to sleep."

"Want me to join you in the shower?" he whispered in your ear.

You blushed pleasantly. "I would love that—WHAT THE HELL?" you suddenly shouted.

Pulling yourself out of his arms, you rushed worriedly to your fish tank, eyes wide. To your utter horror, your beloved pet goldfish was turned up on its belly, floating at the top of the water. His eyes were glossed over and a strong odor was emitting from the tank.

"Robby!" you cried out.

Prussia came over and inspected the tank. "Is he supposed to be doing that?"

You panickingly searched for the bottle of fish food, and found it just as full as you had left it.

"You forgot to feed my fish?" you accosted Prussia angrily. "I know you hate Robby, but you didn't have to fricking _starve him_ to death."

He frowned. "Nu-uh, I did feed him! I swear!" Prussia grabbed the empty container whose contents he had dumped into the tank the day before and dangled it in front of your face. "See?"

You snatched the container from him and sniffed it cautiously. When you drew back, Prussia was suddenly afraid of the expression on your face.

"This is the soap for my laundry," you seethed.

"Er—what?"

"You fed my fish CLORAX?" you shrieked. "Oh my God, you're such an idiot!"

"Wait! Where are you going? Wait! [N-Name]!"

_**SLAM.**_

Prussia face palmed.

Fucking fish.

xXx

_Ring. Ring. Rin—beep._

"…whaddya want, Prussia?"

_"I'm s-s-sorry, okay? Stop being mad, please?"_

"Bring Robby back to life and learn the meaning of 'responsibility,' and then I'll consider your plea."

_"[Name]… Mein Gott, it's a fish! And an unawesome one, at that!"_

"It doesn't matter if it's a fish or an unawesome fish or whatever!" you said angrily. "What I'm disappointed in is the fact that you couldn't keep Robby alive for a week! If you can't take care of a fish, then who's to say what'll happen if we get a _dog_ or have a _kid_?"

_"Look, I'm sorry okay? I—Hey wait, did you just say have a kid? Shit, you're not…?"_

Your face turned red. "Th-That was just—I didn't mean—I'm not pregnant, if that's what you're getting at!" You let out a ragged breath. "Look, this isn't just about the fish, okay? I just want you to be more responsible next time."

_"[Name], if you're worried about our kid—"_

"I'm not pregnant!"

_"—then you don't have to be so concerned! You _know_ that there's no way in Hell I'd treat my kid like that stupid fish." _You heard him grunt on the other side of the line. _"I promise I'll do better next time, okay? Just please don't be mad at me anymore?"_

Your heart was in your throat. This was probably the closest you'll ever get to a heartfelt confession from your obnoxiously loud, annoying lover.

"'Kay," you murmured into the phone.

"YES!" came a sudden shout from your apartment door. "AWESOME!"

You smiled to yourself and placed your cell on the kitchen table. Prussia stood waiting at the door for you, grinning widely. All of a sudden, he swept you up into a warm hug.

Face tinged pink, you gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, to which he responded with a kiss on the forehead.

Maybe…Prussia wasn't just all tough exterior and arrogant ego.

xXx

"So…you said something about wanting to get pregnant?"

"…"

_Slap._

…never mind.

xXx


	23. Torn: Lithuania

22. Torn (Lithuania)

xXx

He hated you.

More accurately, he hated you and _Russia_.

It hurt him to see you smile at the momentarily warm and happy Russia, the happiness in your eyes shining as brightly as the Sun. Every time you walked out of that bedroom—free of tears; unhurt and unmarked—the angry bitterness stung his heart like salt rubbed into his wounds. Not that he wasn't grateful that Russia treated you the way one would cradle crystal; of course he was relieved that there was no sign of the abuse imprinted on you (unlike Lithuania and his two 'siblings').

What he didn't like was the way the two of you would just sit in complete silence, saying nothing through words but through the warmth shared by his scarf. It angered Lithuania to see you so happy with _Russia_ when you should've been looking at _him_ that way. The frustration grew when he realized the inevitable outcome of your relationship with the mentally insane country, and that he could do nothing to obviate the forthcoming destiny.

He loved you with all his heart and soul.

Yet, there were still some things he just couldn't help but despise.

xXx

Little did he know…

You smiled at Russia lovingly, your heart filled to the brim with happiness and satisfaction. Even if it turned out to be only temporary, Russia's eyes were trained solely on you.

And the scars on Lithuania's back were beginning to disappear.

xXx


	24. Promise Me: Germany

23. Promise Me (HRE)

xXx

_You watched as he bid his goodbyes to everyone in the house, heart wrenching when he stopped at you last, unable to say a word. _

_"I know I can't stop you from leaving," you whispered, tears prickling your tiny eyes, "but can you at least promise me something?"_

_His cheeks flushed red. Oh, how you would miss that. _

_"Wh-What do you want?" he asked. "I'll do anything."_

_"Promise me that you'll come back to me when this is all over…please?"_

_By this time, everyone else had gone back inside, too stressed about Europe's increasingly tense situation to worry about the empty promises between two children. _

_Holy Roman Empire's eyes darkened with dead hope. _

_"I promise," he finally swore to you. "I'll come back."_

_Then he left you, shoulders slumped in regret and doubt. _

_But you never lost faith in him. _

xXx

"Germany! Germany!" Italy sang. "Look! I got us a new ally!"

Germany sighed loudly, tired eyes looking up from his papers on the council table to the chirpy Italian skipping into the meeting room.

"Please don't tell me you've found another cat," he growled irritably.

"No, it's my friend, [Name]! We used to live in the same house with Austria a long time ago!"

_[Name]?_ Germany thought the name sounded familiar.

You walked in the door, a nervous smile on your face. Everyone had always said that Germany was a tough cookie to please. Despite Veneziano's happy assurances, you were worried that he was going to be another bully.

However, when you entered the room and locked gazes with a pair of vibrant blue eyes, you froze on the spot. The bundles of already-agitated nerves increased tenfold; you couldn't do anything but stare.

_You would recognize those eyes anywhere. _

On the other side of the room, Germany frowned. Why were you staring at him like that?

All of a sudden, you burst across the room and tackled Germany out of his chair with a hug like a big ball of energy. Successfully fallen onto the ground, you hovered above his stunned figure, grinning like the happiest moron alive.

"I knew it!" you cried. "I knew you were still alive!" Quickly, you shoved your face into his uniform to hide the tears.

With you pressing your face into the chest of his uniform, Germany was so shocked that he truly had no idea what to do. Italy looked surprised and resorted to uselessly flailing his arms around. He was clueless as to why [Name] just attacked Germany.

Said country—equally confused—hesitantly sat up, one arm supporting him and the other holding your back comfortingly. You just stayed there, arms wrapped tightly (but not uncomfortably) around his waist, unwilling to let go.

"You kept your promise," you murmured, your voice muffled by his uniform. "I knew you would…"

_**His mind had no idea what was going on…**_

Germany blinked, surprised to find tears prickling at the edges of his eyes.

…_**but it looks like his heart had remembered. **_

xXx


	25. Childhood: America

24. Childhood (America)

xXx

"My life sucks," America groaned.

You scoffed. "Your life sucks? Ha! _My_ life sucks."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah."

"I've got bad economy."

"My people are rioting."

"Everyone's trying to pressure me into joining the war."

"I'm _in_ the war."

"Well…England sucks at cooking."

You raised an eyebrow. "And what does that have to do with your life sucking?"

"I had to eat his food everyday when I was a kid."

"…that does kinda suck."

"I had a crappy childhood."

"You sure did."

"…"

"…"

"…wanna go grab a burger?"

"Sure, why not?"

xXx


	26. Family: Canada

25. Family (Canada)

xXx

_**I'm a bit suicidal,**_

_**I'm my own worst rival,**_

_**Train wreck, white trash, freak, maniac psycho.**_

He knew what sort of family you came from. With Russia and Belarus for siblings, it would be hopeless to think that such an intense amount of mentally erratic behavior would have no affect on the way you acted. Your bipolar attitude reflected the environment you grew up in, the methods _used_ to bring you up. Sometimes, you could be the sweetest, most innocent little girl in the world. Sometimes, you could be the stuff that makes men _stand up_.

Other times…

_**I'm a trouble making rebel,**_

_**Made a deal with the devil,**_

_**I'm way past ever coming back.**_

Canada's wide eyes couldn't stop staring. He stood frozen in place as you straightened your sullied shirt, grinning wildly.

"Any more people bothering you?" you chirped. Pondering your perfect nails in the sunlight, suspiciously red liquid cascaded down your arm.

"_N-N-Non_," he whispered. "Please stop, [Name]…"

"Why, Canada?" you pouted cutely, a dark glint in your eyes. "No one hurts my little Mattie-babe and gets away with it."

Canada gave you a weak laugh. "Haha…um, [Name]?"

"Hmmm?"

"C-Can we leave now?"

You shot him a smile that would've taken his breath away any other day that there wasn't blood dripping down the front of your shirt.

"Okay." You tossed your temporarily-weaponized branch aside to skip to Canada's side and, before he could stop you, you squeezed him into a tight hug. "I love you, Mattie," you murmured as you nuzzled his neck.

It would be an absolute lie to say that he didn't love you back.

_**I'm going insane,**_

_**I'm building it up,**_

_**Just to break it down.**_

"Mattie?" you said in surprise. "You're still here?"

Canada was sitting in the exact same spot you had left him an hour ago; just staring out into the open sky with the breeze quietly caressing his skin. The sun had long since disappeared over the horizon in a spectacular show of emboldened reds, brilliant oranges, and majestic purples.

You saw the mood he was in: peaceful, sober, and perceptive. You took a seat down next to him and hung your legs over the stone wall. This was one of his favorite spots in all of Canada.

"Are you hurting?" he asked tentatively.

So he had heard.

"It's just a temporary riot; nothing big," you assured. "The whole issue will blow over in a couple of months or so."

"[Name], if you ever think it's going to get worse, I want you to tell me." Canada's eyes were unusually fierce and determined. "I don't want you to suffer on your own. I swear my country will support you in any way we can. But I can only help you if you stop hiding things from me."

You simply looked at him. "My brother went through his own civil war and came out as a super power of the world. If he can do it, so can I."

"That's the thing!" Canada said, forehead creasing in worry. "I don't want you to take on Russia's shoes! I don't want you to become like him more than you already are. It would break you!"

You were just about to snap in protest when you stopped, realizing for the first time that his eyes were brimming with tears.

"Matthew…"

Canada caught himself and quickly wiped the tears from under his glasses. "It's just…I've seen how Russia grew up over the years to the way he is today, and I know just how broken he can be sometimes, even now. I don't want you to end up like that, cracked and pushed to the limit. I'll do anything to keep you from going insane."

You just watched him futilely keeping the frustrated tears from streaking down his face. Gently, you cupped his face with your hands and he let you wipe his tears away soothingly.

"Don't cry for me," you said to him, "'cause I'm not anybody worth crying for. And don't be so worried, Mattie. I'm doing my best to calm down more often, and if I can get past this silly inner conflict, I think that my country will actually get the chance to stabilize."

"But—"

"Shh," you hushed. "If anything goes wrong, don't blame yourself. It's not your fault, Mattie. It'll never be your fault."

He looked at you, eyes doubtful. You gave him an expectant look.

"Okay," he finally sighed. You smiled widely and quickly stole a kiss from his lips.

"Thank you for being so kind to me, Mattie. You know, your kindness is one of the reasons why I fell in love with you."

Canada blushed, but said, "One of the reasons why I fell in love you is because of how strong you can be, even when people expect you to crumble and fall."

"My brother taught me how to stand tall. Despite what you think, he's the strongest out of all of us."

Canada smiled.

"I think _you're_ the strongest one here."

_**I'm not anybody,**_

_**Don't you cry for me,**_

_**I'm just from a dysfunctional family.**_

xXx


	27. Trust: Spain

26. Trust (Spain)

xXx

Antonio pursed his mouth perplexedly, almost like a pout, pressing the tip of his pen against those desirably luscious lips of his. You bit the insides of your cheek to keep from grinning wickedly at the _other_ things he could have pressed against his mouth.

"I don't understand, [Name]," he said, frowning a little. "I know how beautifully you dance, but you never put any effort in my class."

Your eyebrow arched. "But you've never seen me dance before."

The young, sexy Spaniard smirked like he knew something you didn't. "_Si, chica, _I have. And you're very good."

"Oh yeah? When?"

"Every day," he replied. "An hour after class, in this studio, when you think no one's watching you because everyone had already gone home."

Your eyes widened and you blushed hard. "You _watch _me dance? God, that's creepy."

Antonio's smirk widened as images of you sweating and breathing hard to the passionate music flashed through his mind. "It's your fault for being so_ delicioso, chica. __Eres muy sexy cuando mueva su caderas._"

"What?" you asked confusedly. There were a few Spanish words you could pick out, but not enough to string together an actual meaning.

Antonio chuckled. "Nothing. Anyways, _chica_! I asked you to stay behind so I could convince you to show your gorgeous dancing in class. How about you and I practice for a bit?"

You rolled your eyes. "_No, gracias_. I've got no skills to show anyways. Well, it's been nice chatting with you, Antonio! But I've got places to go, people to see. _Adiós, amigo!_"

Before you could run to the door and escape the dance studio, a hand came from behind you and slammed it shut. Its olive-skinned owner leaned down to whisper huskily in your ear.

"Going somewhere, [Name]?" His voice made you tremble involuntarily. "I don't think so."

He smoothly whirled you around like a dance partner, intertwining his long fingers with your slender hand and using his other arm to press your body to his chest. Even though the stereo wasn't on, you could feel the fast beat of dance beginning to pump your heart faster and faster. As his gorgeous green eyes gazed so closely into yours, the taste of thrill made your blood boil with excitement.

"Don't be afraid to dance here," he breathed, lips so agonizingly close to yours. "Just trust me."

xXx

* * *

><p><strong>[1] "It's your fault for being so<strong>_** delicioso, chica. **__**Eres muy sexy cuando mueva su caderas.**_**"** = _"It's your fault for being so delicious, girl. You're sexy when you sway your hips."_


	28. Love: South Italy

27. Love (Romano)

xXx

Lovino's flirtatious habits disappeared after he met you. His Spanish companion once noted in private to you about how madly in love Lovino was. The Italian that would stroll through the streets, throwing pretty girls smiles was completely gone. Now days, he walked with your hand in his, the permanent scowl replaced by a joyful smile. You were just as happy and just as basking in the rays of love as he was. Everything was just wonderful. Perfect chemistry.

And then came the big day.

God, he was nervous.

xXx

"[N-Name]!" Lovino exclaimed, jumping in surprise. "God! Don't scare me like that!"

You giggled. "_Someone's_ jumpy today. Is everything okay with work? Your brother's not bothering you, is he?"

"He's fine, it's nothing," he snapped, and then stomped to his home office and shut the door loudly.

You sighed. Lovino was being pretty asshole-ish lately and you had no idea why. Maybe he was just stressed? No, it seemed more like he was hiding something from you. More than once did you find his study locked and muffled mutterings on the other side of the door.

You shrugged, figuring that if he was going through such efforts to hide it, then it must be important to him.

xXx

Locking the door to his study, Lovino breathed out unevenly, shoulders shaking. He hadn't even heard [Name] sneaking up on him! This would be the last close call though, since everything would come in the clear tonight.

xXx

"Uh, [Name]?"

You looked up (from the delicious pasta dinner Lovino randomly cooked for you), a great big smile on your face. "Yes?" you asked.

Lovino froze at your adorable face. _Damn it, I c-can't!_

He licked his thumb and leaned forward to wipe something off by your lips. "You had some sauce on your face."

xXx

"I'll get the dishes," he said quickly, taking the dirty plates from you.

You were pleasantly surprised, but started to get suspicious.

"What's the occasion?" you asked casually.

At the sink, your Italian lover froze up for a moment before turning on the water. "C-Can't I do something nice for you without it being a special occasion?"

You grinned with acceptance and joined his side, giving him a kiss to the cheek. "Thank you."

His face turned red. "You're welcome."

He had already had so many chances to do it. So why hasn't he yet? Were his nerves so easily scared off? Well, forget the fact that he was Italian and that he and his brother could be true cowards sometimes. He was a _man_! He could do it! Just ask the damn question...!

"W-Will you—"

Lovino whipped around, an action quickly followed by his palm to his forehead.

You had already gone back upstairs.

xXx

You came out of the shower fresh and clean, brushing your damp hair. You spotted Lovino hunched over on the bed, head coming up at the sound of the bathroom door opening. He looked a little distracted.

"Hey, _amore_," you said, jumping on the bed and embracing him from behind, leaning your chin on his shoulder. "Antonio called when you were out this morning."

"Really? What did he say?"

"He told me to tell you that you have the weekend off and, _quote_, 'Stop hesitating and ask her!'" You looked up at him curiously, waiting for his response.

"I-I guess he's right for once, that bastard," Lovino muttered.

He pulled away from your grasp and sat on the bed cross-legged, fully facing you, cheeks tinged red but eyes looking directly at you.

"It's been a couple years since we've started dating," he started, "and I want you to know that uh, I love you and stuff, and I'll never, ever love someone more than I love you right now—"

Lovino shut his mouth, realizing how dreadfully corny he sounded. You, on the other hand, were close to tears hearing his confession. After weeks of him dodging you and being unable to look you in the eye, suddenly you were being showered with so many heartfelt words.

And that tone of voice he was using… It couldn't be…?

"[Name]," he said, taking your hands. "Will you marry me?"

You gaped at him, heart stopped and speechless. When Lovino's forehead creased worriedly, a big grin spread across your face and tears ran down your cheek. Before he could say anything you tackled him down on the bed in a tight hug.

"Oh my God," you cried (literally). "Yes, yes, yes! I love you s-so much!"

You heard him give out a shaky, relieved breath. "Thank God," he whispered, and then buried his face in your shoulder. "H-Hey, [Name]? Can you sit up for a second?"

Sniffling and unable to stop smiling, you gasped in a mix of surprise and excitement as Lovino took something out from the side table.

Lovino's fingers fumbled with the box for a second before managing to open it. He pulled out a beautifully simple diamond ring, the smooth gold band gleaming in the bedroom light and the dozen faces of the crystal sending glittering like nothing you'd ever seen before.

Lovino took your left hand while you covered your mouth in disbelief with the other.

"Thank you so much, [Name]," was all he could choke out as he slipped the ring onto your finger. Immediately, it warmed to your touch and molded perfectly into your skin. For a moment, the two of you just stared at it, equally unbelieving of the weight such a simple little trinket could carry.

But getting a ring around your finger wasn't the point. The only weight Lovino and you had to be concerned with was the great big load of love the two of you shared—something that was rumored to be so light, it could make lovers soar high above the sky.

xXx

_Mrs. [Name] Vargas._

Now that was something you could get used to.

:3

xXx


	29. Please: France

28. Please (France)

xXx

The shower handles squeaked as you shut the water off. Quickly, before the cold air could hit your unprepared body and freeze you to death, you brushed aside the shower curtains and huddled in your warm towel. After a few minutes of drying your hair and admiring yourself in the mirror (it's not vanity; you know you do it a lot), you turned to take your pajamas off the bathroom counter.

But your clothes weren't there.

In place of the loose t-shirt and pajama pants was a neatly folded pile of what seemed to be black and white clothes. Wrapping the towel around your body, you unfolded the mysterious article of clothing to reveal…

…a maid's outfit.

_Wut._

"FRAAAAAANCE!" you screamed. You threw the garments aside and gripped the door handle to wrench it open, not even caring that you were only in a towel (and just _begging _to get raped in the lack of clothing). Much to your anger, the door refused to open. The obvious click in the mechanism told you that someone had locked it from the outside.

"_Ohonhonhon_," came an obnoxious laugh from just on the other side of the door. "Something wrong, _ma cheri_?"

You slammed your palm on the door. "You ASSHOLE! Give me my clothes back!"

Another laugh. "What are you talking about, [Name]? Aren't your clothes on the counter?"

"You're a sick fuck; you know that, don't you?" you growled.

"Ohh, come out right now and I'll show you what a sick fuck is," France said haughtily through the door, his voice so close, you actually stepped back.

You considered your options.

Go out there as you were now in only a towel and get raped.

Go out there in the maid outfit and get raped.

Try to resist him and get tasered/gassed/drugged, only to wake up later chained to the wall, dazed and confused.

No windows, no cell phone, no other choices.

"Done yet, _ma cheri_?"

You roughly grabbed the maid's dress off the counter, muttering dark curses. A few minutes later, you were staring at yourself in the mirror. The dress was, naturally, ridiculously short and tight against your skin, emphasizing your breasts. There was virtually almost nothing covering your inner thighs. You threw the frilly headband into the trashcan.

"Okay!" you called irritatingly. Inside, though you would never admit it, you were secretly turned on. You were looking forward to what would happen. "I'm done, you sicko. Open the door!"

There was no answer.

"DAMN YOU!" you shrieked. In frustration, you wrenched the door open, surprised to find it already unlocked. You didn't have much time to mull over the trivial fact though, as you soon found yourself pinned to the wall by a certain perverted Frenchman. You flinched as he deliberately placed his legs between your exposed thighs, pressed his body into yours, and brought his face close.

"Admit it," he smirked. "You secretly love this." His long fingers caressed the sides of your face.

"Oh, please," you scoffed, face bright red. "Don't flatter yourself. You already have a big enough ego."

France's smirk got wider and suddenly the hallway was hot.

"You're right. It is big."

xXx

…you have to admit, you should've seen that coming.

xXx


	30. Thank You: America

29. Thank You (America)

xXx

_Dear Alfred,_

_If I haven't already burned this letter and you are reading these words, then I must have either been extremely careless to leave this around the house and am about to receive a good telling-to from you, or I was killed. Something tells me that it is the latter. _

_It is very odd, writing this letter even as you sleep so peacefully next to me, weary eyes finally closed after so many hours of keeping them open to the horrors that occur all around us. You would always complain that Arthur never paid attention to you and never noticed that your vision was getting weaker. I do hope you find glasses soon. I hope for a lot of things, actually…_

_Sorry, I was caught up in a moment again. The war has been so hard on both of us (mostly you; I don't even know why I'm complaining). I don't want you to worry, though. I believe wholly in you. England will regret trying to reel you back in like he knows what he's doing. I believe in you. _

_I don't know what else to say. No, more like I know exactly what to tell you, but I wouldn't be able to fit everything onto the paper. I suppose I could tell you some of the random things that come to mind. You know the way your arm always finds its way around my waist? I love that. Your hair is as soft as fine cotton, and the way you look at me with those blue, blue eyes is breathtaking. You're the greatest hero that ever lived. However, I'm sorry to say that no, you don't look good in red, white, and blue stripes. Please burn that shirt right now. _

_Matthew doesn't hate you. He misses you and wishes that you wouldn't be such a pain. About the cookies that I seemingly manage to pull out of thin air? I actually buy them from the bakery down town; you know, the one with beautiful wedding cakes and adorable patterns on the display. I wish we could've gotten married. Other countries do that all the time, don't they? I'm going to miss the way the autumn leaves blow across the sky and how soft snow can fall so accurately on the tip of my nose. I think the thing I'll miss most of all is your smile. Now, don't think that I ain't watching over you, so you better not stop smiling for me! Never stop smiling, darling. I'll be so sad if you do. _

_I'm panicking, writing this letter, but I don't care anymore. Attached, you will find a list of everything else I want to tell you like my favorite places to go and my favorite colors and my favorite time of day. Most of my favorites have something to do with you, love. _

_I wish I could write more, but it sounds like you're starting to move and realize that I'm not lying beside you. I, [Full Name], formally bestow upon you, Alfred F. Jones, anything and everything that I have ever owned and give you permission to do what you will with them. _

_I love you. Don't let my death weigh you down, but don't ever forget me, ya hear?_

_I can't write it enough. I love love love love love you until the end of eternity. And even when eternity ends, my love for you will never ever fade, not even if we're worlds apart. _

_I hope you never disappear from the world, America. But if you ever do, I'll be saving a seat up in Heaven for you, and we can be together for the rest of our eternal lives. _

_My death wasn't your fault. Thank you for all that you've done for me. Keep living your life to the fullest. I want you to be that eagle soaring in the sky, bold and free with nothing weighing you down but the stare of the stars. I want you to be able to look at those thirteen stars on your flag and realize how proud you are to have gotten so far. _

_Become the eagle, darling. I believe in you more than a devout Christian believes in Him; and whether you feel it or not, I'm still believing in you, even if I'm gone. _

_With all the love in the world and more,_

_[Full Name]_

xXx


	31. Like Glass: Denmark

30. Like Glass (Denmark)

xXx

Denmark laughed nervously. "Ahahaha, [Name]? Err, why did you tie me to this chair?"

You glared darkly at him, quickly shutting the door of any hopes in escaping this predicament. It had happened so fast, starting with the moment he had walked in the door. You had pounced on him immediately, and in seconds Denmark had found himself bound by unforgiving restraints to a wooden chair, unable to move a muscle.

"I found four bottles missing from my wine stock," you said angrily. "Norge told me you were drinking with the usual drunks late last night, bragging about having the best wine in the world. He showed me _four bottles with my country's name on them_."

Oh shit.

You pulled out one of your precious, EMPTY wine bottles and twirled it around in your hand, literally looking like 'If looks could kill.' Denmark was very, very afraid. There was a reason why no one dared to piss you off.

"If you ever steal another bottle from my place again," you threatened, "I swear—"

Without warning, you dropped the bottle to the ground carelessly and, without looking, slammed down your battle axe (which appeared out of nowhere), shattering the bottle into a million tiny shards.

"—I will hurt you, Denmark."

And with that, you left him to stare numbly at the glass littering his poor carpet floor, still tied to the chair.

_J-Just the wine bottles? Oh damn, wait till she finds out who raided her underwear drawer. _

xXx


	32. Hate: Germany

31. Hate (Germany)

xXx

"[Last Name]?" your teacher called just before you could leave.

"Ja?" you said, voice thick with an accent. Coughing, you hastily cleared the accent from your throat. "Yes, Miss Eliza?"

She gave you a happy smile. "You've gotten so much more fluent since your first day here! I'm so proud of you!"

You grinned sheepishly. "Thanks, Miss Eliza. That really means a lot to me."

"You're still fluent in German, yes?"

"_Yes, I am_," you replied in your mother tongue.

"Good! See, we have a student with the same problem. He just moved here from Berlin and is having a lot of trouble with his English classes. Do you think you could help him practice a little?"

You frowned, eyebrows creasing. "You know I hate tutoring."

Miss Eliza brushed this off. "He's not like the other dunces you've taught before. In fact, I think he's really good when it comes to Math and Science."

"I still don't want to—"

"His family will pay you."

"I don't want his money—"

"You'll help out a poor soul in need."

"I don't even know who he is—"

"I'll fail you if you don't tutor him."

"What?"

An expectant silence.

A sigh. "Fine, what's his name?"

"Ludwig."

Another thing to add to the list of bad experiences with tutoring people Miss Eliza suggested.

xXx

When Ludwig opened the door, you froze. No one told you he was going to be _this_ handsome! He had perfectly slicked back blond hair and eyes like sapphire, only a bit darker. His white collared shirt was rolled up to his elbows, long pants ending perfectly—strictly—by his ankles.

"_Good afternoon_," he greeted, his deep German tongue nearly turning your knees to jello. "_Are you the tutor Miss Hedervary told me about?_"

"_Yup. And you must be Ludwig, right? It's nice to meet you. I'm [Name]._"

"_It's nice to meet you, too. Here, come in._"

**(A few hours later)**

"Good afternoon," you said conversationally to Ludwig.

"Good afternoon," he replied easily.

"How are you today, Ludwig?"

"I'm fine. How are you?"

"I'm good. What did you eat for breakfast today?"

"I ate cereal. What did you eat?"

"Waffles." You brainstormed for more conversational questions. "What about your family? Do you have any brothers or sisters?"

Ludwig sighed. "One older brother. He is still in Germany. He…will go here—come here soon."

"What about yourself? When is your birthday?"

"O-October…three."

"Third."

"October third."

"What's your favorite color?"

Ludwig hesitated long and hard. "U-Um…"

You smiled encouragingly. "_Take your time_."

"I…_ I don't really have a favorite color. How do I say that?_"

"I don't really have a favorite color."

He repeated the phrase, grateful for the help. "Thank you, [Name]. I am really happy that you have not lost patience with me yet."

You stretched back from the dining room table, relieving your neck of the stress. "_Speak German now. You deserve a break._"

Ludwig sighed as well. "_Mein Gott! That was tiring._" He got up from his chair and walked into the kitchen. Abandoning the paper-littered table and taking a tall stool on the kitchen counter, you watched as your (handsome) German charge examine the contents of the fridge.

"_Stay for dinner_," he commanded. "_It's the least I can do for you. Thank you very much for helping me with my English._"

"_It's no problem! I'm surprised at how fast you learn._"

Ludwig took out a couple packages of genuine _wurst_ sausages (mein Gott, you haven't seen some of those in so long) and dug out a pan from the cupboard. He laughed, "_I hope you're not offended, but you teach exactly like a German woman would. Strict, focused, disciplined. I…I'm glad it was you who came. It was…comforting._"

You blushed darkly. "_Y-You're welcome._" Gazing around the dining room/kitchen combination, you said, "_Do your parents work late?_"

Ludwig paused. "_Right now, it's just my grandfather and I, with my brother landing here next week. My grandfather is in another town, doing business somewhere else._"

You nodded in understanding. As Ludwig cooked dinner (just for the two of you!), he and you talked about life in Germany, school, your families. At one point, you got brave and asked him if he had a girlfriend back in Germany. This random inquisition caused him to faceplant into the floor, a full bowl of ingredients flying in the air. Ludwig landed hard on the floor, cursing loudly and intensely, his face turning red.

Rushing over to help him, you accidently slipped on a stray splatter of dressing and lost your balance.

_Oomph!_

"_[Name]!_" Ludwig exclaimed. "_Are you okay?_"

Opening your eyes, you froze when you realized that you had fallen right on Ludwig. Right between his legs. He lifted his head up only to find himself inches apart from your face. Heat flushed both of your cheeks.

"_S-Sorry_," you stuttered, scrambling to get off of him. "_Are you hurt?_"

Ludwig sat up, brushing food from his hair. "_I'm fine. I'm sorry, your question just…startled me._"

It was a few moments of awkward silence before he stood up and offered a hand to you, which you took.

"_Give me a cloth. We'll clean this up together._"

Knowing from first-hand experience the eternal hatred between a German woman and dirtiness, Ludwig—smart boy—handed you a wet cloth from the sink and helped you clean up the food from the tiled kitchen floor.

"_…you wanna come over my house tomorrow for your next lesson?_"

"_Ja. Thanks._"

xXx

You decided that you no longer hated tutoring. As long as it was with Ludwig.

Whom, as you later found out, shared the same _interests_ as you.

Bed-wise.

xXx


	33. Murderer: Russia

32. Murderer (Russia)

xXx

Imagine yourself hurt. Fatally hurt. Someone hastily pieces together an unbelievable cure that heals you instantly, and everything is happy. But day by day, night by night, your wound festers—eating itself up from the inside. Little things slowly deter the temporary bandage until the wound is in full view yet again, but now it's worse than before—rotten and dead. Another cure is made, and the process repeats all over again.

One day, something is going to happen.

Either someone fails to come up with a cure.

Or the wound is just too ripped up.

Ahead, your future looms like a shadow with infinite weight and density. Whether it's an impending doom that slowly eats you up or a single instant of pain and suffering is all up to you.

In your case, the catalyst to your ruin was a single word:

_**Murderer.**_

xXx

Russia's head snapped up from its dormant position on the empty table.

"What did you say?"

Clad in only a nightgown and holding your hand tightly to your chest, you hoarsely whispered it again:

"Murderer."

The kitchen, already noiseless, went deathly silent.

Russia slowly—agonizingly—stood up, eyes not sane. "I'm a murderer? What makes you say that, [Name]?" The nation's heavy boots echoed against the floor like death. Frightened and shivering like a blade of grass in the wind, you clenched your palm tighter, fingernails sinking deep into your skin.

It didn't help that you could see dried up blood caking on the fronts of his boots. Russia just kept walking toward you, the monster in his eyes barely contained.

"Who's the real murderer here, [Name]?" he hissed. Snow on fire.

You swallowed dry air. "You are."

In one big stride, Russia crossed the room. You tried to run away, but his hand quickly latched onto your arm, reeling you back in. You struggled, trying to break free, but his grip was relentlessly undeniable. Pained as well as painful.

Russia leaned so close to your face that you nearly had a heart attack.

"Wrong answer!" he boomed, noting with malicious glee that you flinched. "Why do you think you haven't been attacked in years? Why do you think your country hasn't been involved with the war yet? Why do you think I've been killing them all off?"

"I-Ivan—"

Roughly, he threw you to the floor and encased your shocked body in a cage of arms and legs, his shadow eclipsing all light from the room.

"You filthy bitch," he raged. "It's you! You're the reason why everything's falling apart!"

Something in you snapped. In one tremendous feat of strength, you shoved the largest nation in the world off your body and slammed him into the ground, completely reversing the situation.

"THEN STOP IT!" you yelled at him. "I NEVER ASKED THIS FROM YOU! STOP KILLING PEOPLE, IVAN, IT'S FUCKING WRONG!"

"I CAN'T STOP, [NAME]! I JUST CAN'T!"

"WHY NOT?"

"BECAUSE I LOVE YOU!" he roared.

You froze solid and so did he.

Instant silence.

Instant cure.

Russia was the first to melt. He looked at you with watery eyes, violet pupils vivid against his face.

"Don't leave me, [Name]," his voice cracked. "[Name]…don't leave me, don't leave me, please…"

Falling into his desperate mutterings, you cried, whispering against his chest, "I won't, I promise! I promise…"

xXx

He wasn't a murderer. You weren't a murderer.

Love was the murderer, and it was killing you both.

xXx


	34. Illness: England

33. Illness (England)

xXx

_Nothing is real._

You are so disorientated that it takes an eternity of time to half-heartedly string the words together into something you could comprehend. For hours, you sit at the table, eyes unseeing anything past the darkness that blankets everything. The walls aren't right. The air isn't right. Nothing is right. Everything feels wrong wrong wrong.

But wait, you're not sitting at your kitchen table. You're actually sitting in mud and muck on the battlefield. The sky is crying, and the musket is deadweight in your hands. Bodies are lying down everywhere, their blood mixing with the watery earth. Slowly, your eyes trace the patterns of swirling water around your knees. You are sinking.

But wait, you're not sitting in the middle of a battlefield. You're actually sitting in an empty train car, watching the world bump by as the steam engine chugs to somewhere you don't remember anymore. No one is with you except for your constant companion—silence. It seems to follow you around everywhere you go. Once, you blink, and suddenly the train is full of life with children cackling and running down the aisles as their parents and uncles and cousins and friends talk merrily about the weather and how happy their families would be when they visit just in time for Christmas—

But wait, suddenly you're not sitting on the train. Now you're on the edge of a building, looking down all fifty floors like the ground was just two feet away. No one is there to catch you if you fall. There are no cameras, no trampoline, no big inflatable cushion to soften the blow. You're all alone in this desolate city—a nobody just waiting for something to happen.

And then suddenly, you're just nowhere at all.

xXx

But you're not sitting in the middle of nowhere.

You're actually sitting in a hospital bed, a thin sheet draped carefully over your shoulders. The window is open and the curtains are gently fluttering in the light breeze. Next to you sit a small vase of lilies and a young man on a chair, just gazing at you with sad, sad emerald eyes and a lifetime of sadness. His hands not only hold your own two fragile palms, but also the promise of never letting go.

He knows what it feels like. It's like the world is not your own, like suddenly everything that was right before is absolutely wrong now, and that you are forced to hover—to drift—in the middle of nothing and wait for something to end it. He lived through it when America—

"You'll get through this," he whispers to you. It is the only sound in the room besides your breathing. He throws you a quiet smile, like he's willing it to shine through whatever hallucinations are swimming in your blank and unresponsive eyes.

But your haunted eyes cannot see anything past the hospital bed and the kitchen table and the mud and the muck and the musket and the people on the train and the ground so close, so far away. You can't see anything past the nightmares that haunt both your days and your nights and every hour in between. You can't see anything past the nothingness.

But when the day came that you _could_ see past your past, do you know what was the first thing you saw?

A promise.

A pair of hands.

And a smile that broke through barriers and melted all the darkness away.

xXx


	35. Grave: North Italy

34. Grave (North Italy)

xXx

"Ve~ [Name]! [Name]!"

At the sound of Italy calling your name, you turned around with a cheery smile on your face.

"Hi, Feli!" you said happily. "What's up?"

"Can I meet your sisters, please?"

You paused, searching Italy's face carefully.

"How did you know I had sisters?"

Italy gave you a funny look. "Everyone knows you have sisters! But no one's ever met them before, so I wanted to be the first!"

Smiling almost ruefully, you said softly, "Oh, you'll be the first alright."

"Ve?"

"Ah, it's nothing."

xXx

Feli was oddly quiet when you parked by the cemetery. You understood that _he_ understood why you brought him here. With the Italian following you silently, you weaved through the numerous tombstones and graves until you finally reached them—second from the back, seventh row.

You smiled sadly at the gravestone and turned to look at Italy. To your surprise, he was down on his knees, whispering into his folded hands. You took a seat on the beautiful green grass and fiddled with the flower arrangement until he was finished praying.

"_Ciao_, [Name]'s sisters!" he suddenly chirped, startling you a bit. "I'm North Italy, but you can call me Feli like [Name] does. Let's see…I like pasta, pizza, and gelato! My friend Germany is such a meanie! He only lets me eat pasta after I run laps, and by that time I'm already so tired! But [Name] is always there to cheer me up! Just the other day, she…"

Tears prickled at the corners of your eyes, a reaction that you quickly wiped away. And even though you turned your head away, Italy could tell you were smiling.

xXx


	36. Ocean: England part 1

35. Ocean (England) [part 1/3]

xXx

You stared out beyond the horizon, imagining all the mysterious lands you would discover once you finally grew up and left this blasted country. All your life you had longed to escape the cage that was your sheltered manor and sail off into the seven seas, not a care in the world if your shoes weren't matching or if your hair was out of place. Mother and father had never approved of your constant day dreaming and adventurous schemes. In a world full of exquisite parties and grand ball gowns, you were the only one that didn't belong—a stranger in a strange land.

You sighed, ready to hop off the window seat when a sudden explosion made the ground tremble. Quickly shoving your window open, you stuck your head out in an attempt to locate the source of the sound. There was movement near the harbor, so you peered closer to see a ship—

—a _pirate ship_.

Your heart pounded. Out of the dozens of fantasies you dreamed of every day, _pirates_ were your favorite. You watched as the mist-clouded streets deftly hid a riot of men as they rambled in like angry ants, yelling and creating an uproar of chaos. There were vague screams off in the distance. Gunshots were heard. Your heart beat quicker.

"M'lady!" cried out a maid from the hall, her footsteps loud against the hardwood.

Instinct took over your body as you rushed over to your bed, high skirts and all, and hid under it. Just as you got the last ruffle inside, your bedroom door burst open. Holding your breath, you silently waited for the maid to go away.

She finally did to search for you elsewhere in the mansion, closing your door.

After crawling out from your hiding spot, you threw all five layers of frills off and went to your secret desk compartment, pulling out a set of much more comfortable clothes—a pair of loose trousers and a cotton shirt (stolen from the general store? pfft, _no_. what made you think that?).

Even though you were sure your parents were going to send you to Hell for it, you couldn't pass up this once in a lifetime opportunity to see havoc at its best. Climbing out your window, you hit the porch roof running.

xXx

Little did you know that at that moment, your manor's back door burst off its hinges, sending your parents and servants in a panic. A man, green eyes smoldering, stepped into the ruckus. His Captain's red coat flared.

"Where is she?"

xXx


	37. Light: England part 2

36. Light (England) [part 2]

xXx

"Where the bloody hell is she?" Arthur roared.

"Sh-She wasn't in her room—"

"What do you mean she wasn't in her room?" [Name]'s father yelled.

Arthur narrowed his eyes at the red-faced man. "Did I tell you to speak?"

The fat rich man immediately choked up, spluttering nonsense to the mud-sullied floor. In one fluid movement, the pirate Captain curled his adroit fingers under the man's collar, a silver dagger in the other hand.

"I don't just visit towns at random," Arthur murmured closely. "I came here for the girl, and if I find that you're hiding her from me…"

A crew member leaning by the door smirked widely, drawing a single finger across his neck while hissing, _"Shhhck."_

[Name]'s father paled ten times over, but managed to choke out, "I d-don't know where she is, but if you want her you can have her! That girl hasn't been useful at all since we adopted her!"

Arthur twitched. "Ohh, so you're _one of those_, are ya?" Disgusted, he threw the man back down on the ground and spat on him. "Rot in hell, ya bloody pig." To his men, he nodded toward the door and said, "Search for her in the gardens. Tear them up good will you?"

His crew grinned maliciously and ran off to storm the rest of the [Last Name] Manor while the Captain decided to check the girl's room himself. He climbed up to the second floor and kicked open the door to find the bedroom empty. Rummaging through the closet and behind the desk, he finally checked under the bed. Grabbing hold of the laces he saw hidden in the shadows, he yanked it out, expecting its owner to come out with it. But all he had grabbed was an unoccupied dress.

Tossing the layers aside, he noticed that the window was open. Poking his head out, he looked around the area (nice view of the ocean, by the way). The porch roof wasn't that far away, just in jumping distance. And was it his imagination, or was that an abandoned pair of girls' sandals lying on the path there?

Arthur grinned, leaping out the window and following the girl's careless trail.

xXx

Sitting atop one of the only purely wild parts of your hometown, you watched the plundering pirates with excitement. It was just before dawn, so anyone that came running out of their home was wearing a nightgown. Truth be told, you enjoyed listening to the sounds of panicked screams and shouts for help. It was hard to explain—there was just something _about it_ that made you think the adventure was closer, that the barriers put up around you were let down just for a moment.

You stood up suddenly, letting the delightful breeze set your hair flying. The wind felt so good on your skin. For once, you felt…free.

As if God Himself wished to embolden the moment, dawn broke over the horizon. The Sun sent gorgeous rays of pure light over everything in sight, giving your skin an enchanted glow. You opened your eyes, expecting to see the roof of your canvas bed with your arms spread wide on the sheets, vision cloudy as if just waking up from an impossible dream.

Instead, all you saw was light.

xXx


	38. Beautiful: England part 3

37. Beautiful (England) [part 3]

xXx

Had he arrived a minute later, he would not have witnessed the Sun breaking over the horizon. But Arthur Kirkland had always had good timing, and he was just in time to stop and stare at the figure at the top of the hill.

He was staring at you.

The Sun's brilliant rays caught you in the perfect light, making it seem like you were part girl, part gold. The wind whipped your hair in a fierce battle of entangled locks, keeping your face clear of any wafting distractions. Arms thrown back, the expression on your face was nothing short of rebellious freedom.

You can imagine how much he appreciated a girl that loved freedom.

Suddenly, he saw you open your eyes, and he knew then that he couldn't kill you. The revelation came so abruptly and so unexpectedly that Arthur actually took a step back. His feet crunched the dry grass, attracting your attention.

When you turned around, you were surprised to find a young man standing behind you some ways down the hill. His hair was a mess of blonde, his eyes a deep emerald green, and his eyebrows heavy and thick. Clad in a cotton shirt, breeches, and a blood red coat, he was the handsomest boy you had ever seen. And judging by the stark black, gold-trimmed tricorn sitting atop his head, he was not only part of the pirate crew, but also its bloody _Captain_.

You pinched yourself, hard. But this wasn't a dream, and the young man didn't disappear. In fact, he was walking right up to you.

"[Name]?" he spoke roughly. "[Full Name]?"

"Yes?" you said dazedly.

Arthur was somewhat shocked. The first look you gave him had been surprise, yet not a fearful kind of surprise. More like a curious sort of surprise. It intrigued him dearly.

"Thought you could hide?" he smirked. "Come along, girl. You're coming with me whether you want to or not."

You blinked. "Where are we going?"

Arthur gave you an incredulous look. Was this dimwit truly bloody Francis' _fiancé?_ That blasted Frenchman must have desperately needed the [Last Name] territory if he was willing to marry such an idiot. _Maybe I should just stick with the original plan and kill her_, he thought. _It _was _my plan in the first place to keep that bloody frog from power._

In his momentary conversation with himself, you finally realized that he was saying the very thing you dared to hope. "You're taking me with you on your ship?" you squeaked. "Really? Truly?"

Before he could stop you, you bounded down the hill in great big leaps, landing on two feet right in front of the Captain. Peering up closely into his face under his hat, you brought a hand up to touch his face—just once—to see if he was real. Arthur recoiled and snatched your wrist in reflex. Your eyes widened at the feel of his strong, _real_ grip on your skin.

"What are you doing?"

"This isn't a dream, right?"

He stared at you. "Are you bonkers? Of course this isn't a dream."

"Promise?"

"_Promise?_"

"Hey, can I join your crew?"

"What?" he spluttered. "No!"

"Aw, come on!" you begged. "I've always wanted to go out into the ocean! I swear I'll make myself useful! I'll cook, I'll clean, I'll wash! Please, oh please let me join you!"

Arthur eyed you carefully, only half considering. You were a woman—and that was bad luck on the waters.

But you could cook.

But you were a woman!

But you could _**COOK**_.

"We'll see," he finally coughed, making up his mind. "Don't get in the way, and maybe I'll consider letting you stay on board—"

You interrupted by giving him a great big hug. "Thank you! Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

Arthur blushed, prying you off of him. "Damn it, no touching!"

"Let's go!" you exclaimed suddenly, dragging him down the hill.

Arthur stumbled with you, quite flustered. You were dragging him to his own ship. Your upbeat attitude was driving him insane! Oh god, what if his crewmates saw this?

Jerking his hand back, he pulled you to an abrupt stop.

"Listen girl," he growled. "I'm in charge here, not you. So you'll follow _my _orders."

Still grinning like an idiot, you said, "I'll do anything you want if you just take me away from here."

_Anything?_ Arthur quickly cleared his mind. "Whatever, so long as you understand." He started walking down the path into town. "Come along, then."

"Yes, Cap'n!"

xXx

(later…)

"[LAST NAME] GET BACK DOWN HERE!"

"NO THANK YOU, CAP'N!" you shouted back down from your perch above the crow's nest. You were seated comfortably on the highest yard that held the main topsail, with only its supportive rope as a lifeline.

Arthur gave you his darkest glare, to which you responded with a mischievous grin. The rest of the crew marveled at how amazingly courageous you were in standing up to the infamous Captain Kirkland. Though they received dirty looks from their enraged Captain, secret grins were tossed around.

"DAMN IT, [LAST NAME], DON'T MAKE ME _SHOOT_ YOU DOWN!" Arthur cocked his pistol back, aiming it at the empty space next to your head to scare you.

Leaping up on the wooden pole, you hopped from one foot to the other, dancing playfully.

"What, are you _worried_, Cap'n? Don't worry, I'm sure if I fall into the ocean, you'll come and save me! I HEAR YOU'RE A GREAT SWIMMER!"

The man handling the wheel barked out a great laugh, a sound followed by chuckling by everyone else.

Arthur's face turned redder than a tomato.

"THAT'S IT, [NAME]! I'M COMING UP TO GET YOU!" he roared.

It was the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

xXx


	39. Pain: Lithuania

38. Pain (Lithuania)

xXx

It's hard to tell you're crying when you're standing in the middle of a thunderstorm.

"[Name]!" Lithuania begged. "Please come back!"

You gave a hoarse laugh, but it was lost in the roar of the heavy rain. You shouted, "Come out here, Toris! It's fun!"

"No!" he tried to shout over the storm. "Come inside!"

His voice was so panicked, that you pitied him a glance. He was leaning out as far as he dared from underneath the porch roof's protection, desperate to pull you out of the rain. He couldn't bring himself to do it, however, because he knew the reason why you were willing to drown yourself in the chaos of the storm.

Without warning, another blindingly white flash of lightning surged through the air. On reflect, both you and Lithuania snapped your heads up to find where it came from.

"Join me, Toris," you beckoned toward him. "You have to try this!"

His protest died in another earth-shaking rumble of thunder. Come to think of it, he had never tried standing in the rain before, did he? Toris hesitated, finding it hard to think clearly with a pandemonium on the loose. Impossibly, he felt an overwhelming wave of sadness and the sudden desire to wash it away.

He slowly took his first step into the rain. And then suddenly, he was in a different world. The rain was all he could feel, hear, or sense. It filled his heart and soul, beating down upon him with the force of the sky. It was like standing under a waterfall that made your knees bend, but not enough to crush you.

You saw him timidly step out into the rain and grinned. Dancing up to him, your cold, wet hands took hold of his and pulled him fully into the empty courtyard. He stumbled in the dark but managed to stay upright with your hand as a guide. In the middle of the courtyard, you let go and stood close to him, holding your arms out as if to invite him into a grand world. You couldn't look up at him, for fear that the falling water would blind you, but you could tell how different the rain made him. His barely visible frame was shaking. His emotions rolled off of him in waves.

Reaching up with your hands, you gently entangled your fingers in his soaked hair. Your eyes closed as you gently pressed your lips to his. The water flowing down to his lips tasted strangely of salt. Rain drops continued to fall. His skin was ice cold, and yet warmth was the only gift you couldn't grant him.

The only thing you could do for him was numb the pain.

His arms wrapped around your waist, tight and helpless.

Yes… it's hard to tell you're crying when you're standing in the middle of a thunderstorm.

xXx


	40. Blind: Estonia

39. Blind (Estonia)

xXx

From the moment he opened his eyes, Estonia knew something was wrong.

First of all, his alarm woke him up.

Second, his hair was a mess.

Third, he had kicked his blankets off the bed.

The problem?

His glasses were missing.

xXx

"R-Raivis?" Estonia tentatively said, trying to blink his vision back to the way it was years ago, before he got glasses. He was having no such luck.

Latvia—who just so happened to be walking by—peeked into his brother's bedroom. To his surprise, he found his older brother still in bed, looking quite panicked.

"What's wrong?" Latvia asked worriedly. He looked around for Russia. Just in case.

Estonia was depressed. "I… Do you know where my glasses are?"

Raivis gasped. "You lost your glasses?"

"N-No… I'm sorry, could you check my bathroom counter for me?"

"Yes! Hold on!"

Estonia waited for a few minutes for his brother to come running back in with his glasses, but no such thing happened. In fact, after ten minutes, he got a little worried. Did Raivis get lost? The house wasn't as big as Russia's (_*shudder*_), but it was still rather large for the three little countries to live in. Estonia was suddenly very worried. What will he do without his glasses?

The door to his bedroom opened, and Estonia was relieved. The relief was short lived, however, because the (extremely) blurry figure at the door wasn't the small, maroon stature of his brother, but the red and dark blue blob of someone else.

"[Name]?" Estonia said unsurely. "Is that you?"

"Yup," she chirped. He squinted in order to see her, but to no avail.

"I'm sorry," he apologized, blushing. "I j-just woke up." He laughed nervously. Oh God, [Name] was in his room! And he was wearing just a shirt and boxers!

He heard rather than saw her laugh. "It's okay, Eduard. I think you look just _fine_ the way you are."

"Th-Thanks, [Name]." His face turned redder.

[Name]'s blob walked even closer. He squinted a little to discern that she was holding out something for him to take. His heart flipped a little.

"My glasses!" he said in surprise, taking them from [Name]'s hand. "Thank you! Where did you find them?"

"Ha, ha…about that," her voice said sheepishly. "I actually took them from you this morning."

"You what?" Estonia said, putting on his spectacles with relief. He looked up to give [Name] a smile, but stopped short.

She was wearing glasses. Classic, wire-rimmed frames—office style.

"Where did you—? Since when did—? Huh?" The young Baltic nation turned red. [Name] looked so intelligent and sexy in her sleek, jet-black specs that Estonia found it hard to breath for a while.

[Name] shrugged, smiling wide. "You never take your glasses off and I just got these, so I wanted to see how bad your vision was. And wow, are you blind!"

Estonia gulped, unable to come up with a good reply. Luckily for him, though, [Name] didn't wait for a reply. Her lips curled up into a sly smile as she leaned over him on the bed.

"But I sorta kinda think you're hot without the glasses," she whispered.

xXx

"Sorry, Eduard, but I couldn't find your glasses," Raivis called, trying to open the bedroom door. He was surprised to find it locked. He was even more surprised when he heard shifting and muttering around inside.

After a moment of hesitation, he shrugged and walked away.

"He's probably really depressed," he nearly cried.

Oh, Latvia, you don't know how wrong you are.

xXx


	41. Apologize: Latvia

40. Apologize (Latvia)

xXx

_"Flower gleam and glow,_

_Let your power shine,_

_Make the clock reverse,_

_Bring back what once was mine._

_Heal what has been hurt,_

_Change the Fate's design,_

_Save what has been lost,_

_Bring back what once was mine..._

_...what once was mine_," you sang, your voice nearly a whisper. Its echo reverberated softly around the empty auditorium, fading quietly into silence. It had been a tough month for you since the car accident, and you were hardly feeling any better. Sometimes, you would feel as if it was just a bad dream. Sometimes, you felt like murdering the mother fucker that was so drunk, he didn't see the red light.

Every day, you wished for the power to heal. You wished for the power to _fix_ people—not comfort them with singing. You wished that you could turn back time, just a little—just enough to pull her out of the car, or stop her from going to that party.

But you can't change the past, the same way you can't bring someone back to life.

You looked out into your invisible audience, remembering the time she sang with you in front of the crowd—

All of a sudden, a loud ruckus backstage interrupted your thoughts. Whirling around from center stage, you froze. The backstage door was wide open, and sprawled on the ground was a young boy, about the same age as you. He was groaning in pain, his schoolbag opened and its contents all over the floor.

Quickly wiping the stinging tears from your eyes, you put on your best smile and walked over to help the boy up (you were excellent at putting on good smiles). Despite this calm façade, however, you were a bit shaken by this boy's abrupt appearance. Wasn't this the new kid that started last week?

"I-I-I'm so sorry!" the boy cried, begging for forgiveness. "I d-didn't mean to listen in! I was just here because I forgot my books and I had no idea anyone was here this late afterschool! I mean, I think it's wonderful that someone puts so much time and effort into improving their singing skills! Ah! Um, not that I definitely think you need improvement! Um—"

"Whoa, hey," you said, smiling a little despite yourself. "Calm down. I'm not mad at you or anything."

The boy looked up with teary blue eyes. "Y-You're not?"

You were confused. "Of course I'm not. Why would I be?"

"Oh… I'm sorry, I thought you would be mad that I listened in and interrupted you." He cautiously reached out to grab a fallen book, as if unsure if you were going to spontaneously lash out at him.

You gave him a reassuring smile. "Here, I'll help you."

"Th-Thank you."

As you gathered up the scattered books, you asked, "What's your name?"

"Um, Raivis. What's yours?"

"[Name]." You paused, then said, "Thanks for bursting in here, Raivis. I kinda needed some company." Handing him the rest of the books, you caught him looking at you funnily. "Is there something wrong?"

"…w-were you crying just now?"

"No," you immediately denied, your hand flew up to check for dried up tears. "N-Not really."

Raivis pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, lightly licked it, and dabbed the soft cloth near your eyes for a while. "You have some dried up tears…"

Your face turned warm at his gentle rubbing. "Thanks," you muttered once he was finished. He smiled brightly to you, a little embarrassed, too.

"Sorry, I just ruined your day, didn't I?" he said sheepishly.

You had to laugh at that. "No, you just made it better."

"Your singing is beautiful, by the way," he said sincerely. "Are you going to go home now?"

"What, impatient to take center stage?"

"N-No! I would never have the courage to stand up in front of so many people." As if to emphasize his point, his voice echoed across the auditorium. "So, are you going to walk home?"

"Yeah. I walk home. Are you getting picked up?"

"No, I have to walk home, too."

"Really? Which way do you live?"

"Uhh…up the hill and past the bus stop with the pink flag on it. I think…"

"Wow!" You grinned, shrugging your bag on your shoulder. "I live that way, too. I'll walk with you!"

"Great! Thanks, uh…" Raivis grinned sheepishly. "I'm sorry, I'm not so good with names."

"It's [Name]," you said, waving it off. "Don't apologize."

"Sor—I mean, okay!"

xXx


	42. Fire: Belarus

41. Fire (Belarus)

xXx

The snow crunched under your feet as you carefully approached the thin figure sitting on the stone wall. Belarus heard the subtle disturbance and whipped her head around, deadly knife in hand.

She saw you and her eyes narrowed, though her weapon lowered slightly.

"What do you want?" she said disdainfully.

You slowly reached inside your thick winter coat and pulled out two bottles of clear liquid. Make no mistake, however, for these drinks were far from water.

"The snow is cold this time of year," you said, walking up to her. "Just thought we could share a drink while we still have fingers."

Belarus stared at the bottle of pure Belorussian vodka for a minute before taking it from your hand and twisting the cap off. As she took a long swig, you hopped up on the stone wall next to her, momentarily shivering from sitting on the snow. Then you popped open your own bottle and drank deeply. The vodka was like liquid fire streaming down your throat.

"Cheers," you said hoarsely, holding up the glass.

She said nothing. Just tapped her drink to yours and took another sip. Snow fell quietly on your shoulders and in your hair.

And then it was just you and Belarus—two friends sitting on a stone cold wall, liquid fire down their throats.

xXx


	43. One Day: Poland

42. One Day (Poland)

xXx

"[Name], you're gonna look _so pretty_," Poland sighed happily. "Just one more…and…there!"

Your whole frame twitched when he clipped the last pink bow on your head. Sad to say, you were under Polish rule, and he was taking complete advantage of it. Every single day was Barbie-doll dress up day! He brought you to his 'fashionable' dressing room and dolled you up in glitzy, ridiculously flamboyant outfits as a model all Goddamn day.

As he stood back to examine his newest creation (you had more embellishments than a wedding cake!), you glared at him and imagined him miserable. When you rebelled and broke away from his country, the first thing you would do is rip apart all of his clothes. Then you'd burn his closet down. He would be so devastated that he'd go into clinical depression. No amount of chocolate coated pocky would be able to save him then.

You chuckled darkly, and Poland looked up.

"What's so funny, [Name]?"

You shook your head. "It's nothing."

_One day, Poland. One day. _

xXx


	44. For You: Russia

43. For You (Russia)

xXx

_His whole body trembled—soaked in his own blood—as you laughed heartily, towering over him. Little Rus could barely even breathe; could hardly feel the cold that was slowly consuming him._

_"Weak," you spat gleefully._

_"A-Am…not," he wheezed._

xXx

_Badump badump badump_. That was the sound of a heart pounding furiously against a cage of ribs and flesh. How often was the sound of life taken for granted? How often have you taken this rhythm—your heart—for granted?

Your capitol. Your heart. Your _heart_.

xXx

_"You're weak!" you cackled. "And here, I heard of the great winter country Rus and thought that he would be a great power in the East. But all I see is a poor little boy hardly strong enough to hold a spear!"_

_"I'm…not weak," he growled. A pale, bloody hand tried to push him up from the ground._

xXx

It was here, in this ordinary business skyscraper, where he had hidden it. He had been here. He had managed to infiltrate so deeply into your heart. This morning you had woken up feeling as if something was utterly wrong. And then the email came a few minutes later. Oh god, the email.

xXx

_Your eyes narrowed at the resistance. Without giving it a second thought, you planted your heavy boot on his back, forcing hi__m to collapse to the ground once again._

_"You're weak," you repeated more sternly, as if telling off a child. "And now, you're mine."_

_"N-Never."_

xXx

Immediately, you had taken an elevator straight to the top floor, thinking that he had hidden it there. But after an hour of searching, his little 'present' (as he called it) was nowhere to be found. So you did the only thing you could do—and that was to work your way down.

xXx

_Your foot delivered a swift kick to his abused ribs. The starving nation gasped in pain._

_With cold eyes, your totalitarian gaze looked down upon him. "Get up," you said cruelly. "You're coming with me."_

xXx

The symbolism was frightening. Your capitol. Your heart. Moving from top to bottom, floor by floor—like slowly descending from Heaven to Hell. Even the date was haunting. It was Unity Day.

xXx

_After a moment of utter silence, the boy slowly came to his feet, spitting out a glob of blood. You smirked, enjoying the low stoop in his slender shoulders and the way his arms hung limp at his side. But when he looked up, you faltered. His cold, piercing eyes were full of ice, deadly and sharp._

_"I'm not weak," he spat._

xXx

You finally reached the basement. Flinging open the doors, you sent the sound of wood ricocheting against the walls. But that wasn't the only sound in the room.

_Beep…beep…beep..._

xXx

_He turned away and stalked off to where your soldiers awaited further orders._

Those eyes_, you thought, a little shaken. They were the eyes of a monster waiting to be unleashed. They were the eyes of a feral beast, mercilessly beautiful. They were the eyes of someone who would never, ever forget._

_Or forgive, for that matter._

xXx

There. Wielded to the wall. A chaotic rainbow of wires, covered by a glass shield. Vivid red numbers, flashing, counting down, 10, 9, 8…

A bomb.

And a note.

**_For you,_**

**_Love,  
>Russia<em>**

…_boom. _

xXx


	45. Photo Album: Iceland

44. Photo Album (Iceland)

xXx

"…and then he tried to lick the icicle!" Denmark laughed. "He cried for an hour after and refused to eat anything cold for at least a decade."

"Aww," you cooed. "He looks so adorable!"

Iceland suddenly walked in the living room, Mr. Puffin on his shoulder. "Here are the papers, [Name]—" He stopped when he saw you and Denmark on the couch, so close to each other. His _heart_ stopped once he realized what you two were leaning over.

"Ice, you used to look so cute. I wonder what happened," you sighed, gazing at a picture of red-faced, baby Iceland with his tongue stuck to an icicle.

Iceland sent a deadly glare to Denmark, who cowered in fear (Norge would be so proud).

The Dane cleared his throat, laughing uneasily. "Ahhh, I think I need to go check on something over there. Bye, [Name]!" He left quickly.

You giggled as Iceland sighed. Closing the thick album, you went up to him, grinning. Iceland blinked in surprise when you planted a quick kiss to his cheek.

"I still think you're cute," you assured.

He just blushed and muttered, "…thanks."

xXx


	46. Memory: America vs England part 1

45. Memory (America-England) [part 1]

xXx

You woke up, head reeling. Ugh, maybe challenging Lud to a drinking contest wasn't the greatest idea… Sitting up, you were jolted awake by a sudden sharp draft. Did you leave the window open again? That's odd, where's your shirt?

Only then did you realize that you weren't in your room, this wasn't your bed, and you were stark naked. Flushing tomato-red, you quickly pulled up the thin bed sheet to cover yourself.

The big mattress suddenly shifted as someone turned over, snoring.

"Eeep!" you squeaked. Holding very still, you didn't dare to breathe until the blanketed (thank god) figure stopped moving, settling back into a state of rest.

From where you sat, frozen, you could see a shock of sunshine-gold hair and light skin. Glinting in the weak morning light was a pair of wire-rimmed glasses. The inn room was lit well enough for you to make out a mess of your clothes (as well as his) on the floor.

The situation was bad enough when you spotted the impossibly large, completely weaponized gun leaning against the wall.

He was a gunslinger.

On reflex, you reeled back in disgust. Wow, you must've been _really_ drunk to have slept with a fucking _gunner_.

Silently slipping out of the alien bed, you quickly threw your clothes on. This wasn't so much of a problem since the only armor you really wore was an assassin's lightweight attire and mage's cloak. Early on in life, you had drunken tons of blue potions to increase your defense and magic. When you really started to gain levels, your stats went up exponentially. Now, you wore armor solely to keep your speed and attack power up. With unbelievable HP, defense, and a rare set of high level mage equipment… Well, let's just say that you were quite the magical weapon.

Your best friend, the legendary Arthur Kirkland, despised gunners like no other, as they tended to be very self-conceited and forceful (not at all like the intelligent, manipulative mage). Years ago, his village had been constantly ransacked and bullied by gunslingers. Of course, once he left and came back a powerful mage, the gunners had all mysteriously disappeared. Amazing still, the village headsman randomly received a whole flock of angry chickens from an anonymous source to sell for money that would help fix anything that the gunners had damaged.

And because Arthur was your best friend, you hated gunners, too. (Besides, you kinda sorta had a thing for him…)

Your gear was packed and you were all set to go. In fact, you were right at the door when you heard a soft voice.

"[Name]," the young man whispered in his sleep.

You had no memory of what happened the night before, but it occurred to you that he might. For a moment, you considered casting a simple memory spell to keep him from blabbing about his night with you. But you shook your head. He most likely wouldn't remember the details anyways. Gunners were notorious for being a little…empty up there. Besides, to him, you were probably just another girl he fucked. Damn, you were never going to drink that much again.

Slipping out the door, you escaped, quietly praying that you could leave this mistake behind you.

xXx

He woke up, head reeling. Glancing at the empty spot, the events of last night hit him with the force of a pistol at point-blank range. Guilt, excitement, sadness, bliss, disappointment—emotions shot through him, making him wince.

He rolled over and buried his nose in the sheets, inhaling her scent as if it were a drug to save his life. She had been here, with him! They had been here, in this bed! Giggling like a little girl, his heart soared.

But the feeling didn't last long. She had been beyond drunk, and he, intoxicated as well. She wouldn't have made love to him any other way.

Alfred sighed, ashamed and unhappy.

Maybe he shouldn't have fallen in love with her.

xXx


	47. Hope: America vs England part 2

46. Hope (America-England) [part 2]

xXx

"Where were you after the party?" was Arthur's inevitable question when you returned to the guild. You ruffled your hair a bit and grinned sheepishly.

"I managed to get a room at an inn." Tossing your bag of things onto an old redwood chair, you managed to change the subject. "You got home safely, didn't you? I dearly hope you hadn't gotten stone drunk."

He simply rolled his gorgeous green eyes. "I was perfectly fine."

"Of course you were," you replied.

"You could have stayed with me for the night instead of wandering off," he said nonchalantly. "I could have taken care of you."

The motive behind his words was so blunt that you wondered if he was still drunk. "You still have a bit of tonic in you, Artie? You're being awfully straightforward today."

His face blushed pink and he angrily retorted, "I am always straightforward! And don't call me that!"

You laughed. He was the same ol' Arthur.

"Move along," he said, shooing you away. "You reek of alcohol, woman."

You scoffed. "What a gentleman."

Arthur gave you his most refined smile.

xXx

Smoothing out the quilt of your bed, a thin Messenger Parchment & Quill floated in your room. With a flamboyant flick and swish, the quill scribbled a quick message upon the dried paper.

_**Boy at the door to see you. Says he knows you. **_

"No way," you whispered.

You dashed out the door, mage cloak flying.

xXx

"Bloody fuck, get this rat out of here," Arthur hissed.

"Woah, woah, man!" The young gunner with blue eyes and blonde hair held up his hands in surrender. "Calm down, dude."

"I'll do it myself if I have to," the angry mage continued. He finally acknowledged the boy with a deadly glare. "What business do you have with [Name]?"

The gunner suddenly got snippy. "That's between me and her, Eyebrows," he answered curtly.

"Impertinent brat," Arthur snarled.

"What's your problem, man?" the other grumbled. "You got something against me?"

"My problem is that you're a gunner, you're here in my guild, and you're asking for [Name], saying that you know her." The air around Arthur shimmered. "Never have I seen a gunslinger with good intentions."

Just then, you turned the corner into the main entrance room to find two young men glaring right up in the other's face. Arthur's eyes were deadly and the other one…

Your heart nearly stopped. The gigantic gun, the blonde hair, the wire-rimmed glasses—it wasn't just _a_ gunslinger, but _the_ gunslinger. _Your gunslinger. _

Damn.

"What's going on?" you said, cloak whirling and hair caught up in a warning breeze of magic. "Step back, you two."

The two whipped up their heads to meet your approaching figure. "[Name]," Arthur sighed in relief, just as the gunner's eyes lit up and he said, "[Name]!" The two glared at each other again.

Quickly, you came up with a mental decision.

"Who are you?" you snapped at the gunner irritatingly.

xXx

For a second, Alfred thought he was going to cry in despair. But he realized that he would look like a sissy, so he tried a different, more charming approach.

Giving you his best 'cool guy' smile, he said, "Hey, babe. Remember me?"

Immediately, he saw that it was the completely wrong thing to say. You looked raging mad and the big eyebrows guy (what a punk) was murderous.

"That's it!" Eyebrows screamed. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a bunch of mages appeared to hold him back from attacking Alfred. "I'll kill your arse!"

"Like you could," Alfred retorted. Glancing at [Name], he saw her incensed expression and mentally slapped himself. He was just making it worse.

"Fine, let's take this outside," Eyebrows said, shoving the gunner out of his doorway. "A duel."

Alfred grinned mischievously. He'd come here for [Name], but now that Eyebrows challenged him, he had a way of impressing her! His win would sweep her off her feet and he could whisk her away like the hero he was. There was still hope for them!

"I accept, Eyebrows," he replied heroically

Eyebrow's expression darkened, and his lovely [Name] was getting more irritated by the minute. He needed to fight and win this battle quickly, or else his mouth would ruin everything.

The fight between mage and gunner begun, and Alfred's only hope was slipping through his fingers.

xXx


	48. Numb: America vs England part 3

47. Numb (America-England) (part 3)

xXx

The duel ended as soon as it started. Arthur was rocking the air with earth-shaking blasts of magic, making everyone's hair stand on their ends. Alfred wasn't doing so bad either, taking only a couple shots in between dodges, firing with surprising accuracy. It was apparent, though, that neither boy took the other very seriously.

Your mind was doing some rapid calculations. If you continued to pretend that you didn't know who the gunner was, there was a high chance that he would insist otherwise and reveal some very unpleasant things to Arthur. His words would make sense, too, since no one else knew where you were last night. That would at least make Arthur a little suspicious.

On the other hand, it was almost just as bad if you confessed everything to Arthur. He would be furious with you! Not to mention, he would undoubtedly be hurt as hell and you hated to cause him pain. But telling him was better than him finding out on his own.

_That's it_, you decided. _I'll tell him after the duel._

Then you crossed you fingers that he would win, or else your news would be like salt to a festering wound.

At the sound of faint thunder, you temporarily looked up at the sky away from the duel. You were about to look down when something in the clouds caught your eye.

Your heart stopped. It was the glinting, golden skin of Gladiose—the strongest dragon Boss in the Elgnand region! You could barely see it amongst the darkening clouds and stormy mist, but the long, sleek body was too iconic to be missed.

_And in the middle of a duel_, you lamented.

"Peter!" you shouted. Thunder was growing louder now. As expected of a Lightning Boss. Damn, why didn't you notice the storm sooner?

The young wizard boy appeared next to you. "Yes?" he chirped, trying to watch his amazing guild leader duel the interfering gunner.

You knelt down and put two heavy hands on his shoulder, making him look you in the eye.

"Take everyone back inside. Gladiose is up in the clouds."

As if to emphasize your order, lightning struck the ground near the edge of the forest. Rain began to pour down in massive amounts, showering you all. Peter's expression looked frightened when he caught a glimpse of the golden armor of Gladiose.

"Quickly, Peter!"

He disappeared from sight to warn the others, and you turned your attention to the still-battling idiots. Normally, Arthur was the first to notice the dangerous dragon lurking above. The Kirkland guild was always a target for strong, magical beasts, and Gladiose the Lightning was no exception. It surprised you that he was still fighting, harder now. In fact, his expression was absolutely livid towards the spectacled gunner.

"Arthur!" you shouted under the precipitation. "Stop fighting!"

They didn't even give you a glance, completely focused on killing each other. A bullet tore through Arthur's cloak. The gunner's hat was seared by a ball of fire.

"Damn it, stop fighting, you two!" Running up to them, you decided that their heads were too thick to be penetrated by words. Obviously, you would have to use magic.

Muttering faster than your usual drawl, you focused on the heavy rain, willing the falling water to bend to your will. The raindrops quickly and easily followed your orders, building up into a giant, floating pool of water and capturing both Arthur and the gunner in separate blobs. The two young men were caught by utter surprise and struggled. The water tightened its grip on their bodies.

[Name]—the greatest Elementalist mage in four different regions. With Arthur Kirkland as a co-founder, the Kirkland Guild was definitely something to admire.

"[Name], what the bloody hell are you doing?" Arthur yelled, glaring at you like you were torturing him exclusively. The gunner coughed and sputtered for a long time, and when he finally sucked in water, he found that he could breathe even while floating in midair in a bubble of liquid.

"Cool!" he laughed.

Arthur tried to freeze Alfred's bubble over, but your enchanted water easily sucked in all his power.

"Gladiose is above you right now," you cut him off. He blinked in surprise. "I hereby declare this duel postponed until further notice." You pulled out your beloved Raisus (a beautiful sword of the best layered steel and deepest magical power; a gift from a man from the harsh winters in the East) and slashed the air. The floating water burst and both men fell to the muddy ground with a groan. Raindrops pitter-pattered music on the silver steel.

"Damn," Arthur cursed darkly. He looked above to search for the golden beast in the clouds, but in vain. The dragon swerved down from the sky and, with a great roar, landed on the mud splattered ground. Her scales were a beautiful burning gold, blinding with radiance with every lightning strike. She was nearly sixty feet in length, twice the height of the Guild standing up, and deadly in so many ways. Her devastating Lightning, her razor-sharp claws and teeth. Even her jet-black eyes were paralyzing (though they never seemed to affect you and Arthur).

Rearing Raisus for battle, you exchanged nods with Arthur, and plunged into the fight.

xXx

Alfred saw the dragon and his heart nearly stopped. Gladiose was here, and she looked every bit the menace the townsfolk made her out to be. Pitch black eyes, flaming gold armor, bigger than anything he'd ever seen before—she was a demon of beasts.

And [Name] was running right towards her.

He cursed and switched his equipment, trading his simple shotgun barrel for his enchanted barrel. Taking aim, he fired a deadly shot at the ruby crystal on Gladiose's forehead—her weakness.

The blast hit her spot-on and the dragon roared in agony and rage, turning her soul-less eyes on Alfred. He grinned and stuck his tongue out. Even [Name] glanced up in surprise, quite appreciative. The gunner beamed.

On the other hand, Arthur was pissed off. His emotions were already wired due to his quarrel with the stupid bastard, but with Gladiose weighing on the other half of his mind, he was ardently enraged. Focusing this hostility through his wooden staff, he threw a beam of pure, stark magic. It just missed the ruby weakness (which pissed him off even more), but did the damage it was meant to do.

Gladiose looked shocked. The Lightning dragon didn't expect to find such powerful adversaries.

Alfred was impressed as well. He almost wanted to shout out, _'"Great shot, Eyebrows!"_ but decided against it. The grumpy mage obviously despised him. He was probably the stuck up asshole that got [Name] to hate gunners.

Suddenly, Alfred didn't feel so kind towards the mage.

"You missed," he laughed as he ran by Eyebrows, taking multiple shots at the rare kinks in the golden armor.

"Belt it, scum."

xXx

Meanwhile, as the boys were battling out both the dragon and their aggression towards each other, you were up on the roof of the Guild porch, focusing very hard on the rain. Even for an Elemental Master like you, it was always hard to bend nature to your power. Elementals were required to have what people called Wild Magic, magic that was nearly uncontrollable and highly dangerous. Nature was quite fond of wild, uncontrollable things.

Letting your magic burst out and run free was the easy part. The hard part was getting it to focus on streaming around the golden Boss in a whirlwind of intense power, circling around and around, faster and faster. The dragon roared in agony from the constant battering from Arthur and the gunner, but her cry was warped due to the harsh, cold tornado. The two battling men had to withdraw from the violent torrent and could only watch in amazement as you controlled the elements.

Cold, harsh air turned to tiny particles of floating ice, and once there was enough, you made a sharp movement with your blade, and the ice flew to compress together to make one long, jagged icicle.

Wind still holding her down, Gladiose could do nothing but flash white-hot instances of pure light in an attempt to blind you. But your Elements were stronger, and you were ruthless in the state of Wild Magic.

The icicle plunged down towards Gladiose's ruby weakness. It hit dead on, cracking the precious jewel and embedding itself into her head, shutting her mouth closed.

Alfred cried out, "HOLY CRAP!" You sighed irritatingly.

There was no blood, but the image of the golden dragon shimmered. In a matter of seconds, the golden armor turned orange, then muddy brown, then black, and finally burst into a storm of dust, which dissolved in midair and disappeared completely.

While Alfred laughed and checked out the giant icicle (to lick it, no less), a hand gripped your arm, startling you. Arthur's emerald eyes were hard.

"Come," he said, and then threw his cloak over the both of you, making you both disappear.

xXx

"Who is he?" Arthur demanded once you two were alone in his study. Piles of old spell books cluttered whatever little space they could find. Towering bookshelves enclosed you and Arthur in a private bubble.

"The gunner?" you clarified.

"Yes," he snapped. "The _gunner_."

You looked in his eyes carefully, trying to distinguish the reason behind the smoldering anger.

"I don't know who he is," you said truthfully.

His eyes narrowed. "Where were you last night? Why did you come back smelling like gunpowder?"

Your breath caught. "I smelled like gunpowder?"

"Yes." Arthur grit his teeth. "Like _his_ gunpowder."

"Really now?" you said skeptically, wondering if he was joking. "And what does his gunpowder smell like?"

"Burgers. Those nasty things."

He wasn't making jokes.

Falling silent, you looked away awkwardly. Fate had a horrible way of revealing secrets.

"I challenged Lud to a drinking contest and lost," you finally admitted. "One minute, I was drunk, the next I'm…"

"In his bed?" he said curtly.

"In an inn bed, with him," you said softly.

He was silent, turning away from you to stare at a spot on the wall. You kept your eyes down, guilty beyond measure. He was hurt, you could tell. Hurt very badly.

"I'll kill him," he suddenly spoke. You looked up in surprise. His expression was hateful. "You don't mind, do you?"

"W-Well, I _do_ mind if you get charged by the authorities for murder."

"You can talk to Lud. He'll make an exception for you."

You were shocked. He was serious. "No!" you argued. "I won't let you kill him for my sake. Do you understand what will happen if you do? They'll take away your staff and powers! I'm not worth risking your magic for!"

Arthur moved his face down to yours and said, very seriously, "You're worth risking everything for." He swooped down and planted a firm kiss to your lips.

Closing your eyes, you automatically kissed back, chest squeezing with happiness. After years of yearning, he finally kissed you! His mouth was surprisingly soft and gentle, full of love. You wrapped your arms around his neck, willing your love to pour into him, too.

Abruptly, an image of the young gunner flashed through your mind, grinning as bright as the sun. _Alfred_, you remembered his name.

What the hell were you thinking?

In a moment of pure panic, you broke the kiss, pulling away from Arthur. He opened his eyes in shock. _Why did you stop?_

"I'm sorry," you whispered to him. In a whirl of your cloak, you disappeared from the room.

Arthur fell to his chair, numb.

xXx


	49. Fate: America vs England part 4

48. Fate (America-England) [part 4]

xXx

In the bustle of the town, you reappeared, the hood of your cloak hiding your face in shadow. No one even flinched at the sudden manifestation of a human in the middle of the path. People of all jobs went about their business, uncaring. _No one cares anymore_, you thought sadly.

Walking around for a bit, you decided to visit the pub. Scanning the bar under dimmed lights, you couldn't find anyone you recognized.

_Good, _you couldn't help but think as you took a seat at the end of the bar. The man behind the counter lifted his chin up in recognition and then planted down a mug of beer.

You stared at the counter, hard. You _loved_ Arthur. You've been in love with him for years, and suddenly this… this _gunner_ comes along and screws everything up! You couldn't get his name out of your head—_Arthur—Alfred, Alfred, Alfred_. Why did Alfred's face pop up when Arthur was kissing you? Did you seriously like the guy?

You sighed. Well, you did have a one-night stand with him; certainly that was a weight on your mind. But you didn't love him like you did Arthur, did you? You felt your face flush. Now that you thought about it, you could remember a sort of gentleness with Alfred, and you were sure that he had honest blue eyes. Compared to Arthur, he was open, like the sky, and as free as an eagle.

You took another swig of alcohol, letting the acrid taste burn into your mouth. Will your whole life turn upside down because you got too careless one night with the beer? Damn, you shouldn't even be drinking right now.

"[Name]?" a voice said in surprise.

God damn it.

Alfred hopped up on the seat next to you, grinning as bright as day. "I knew you would be here," he said.

You stared at him, eyes narrowed. "Who are you?" you said, not too friendly.

He was unfazed. In fact, he looked quite excited. "The name's Alfred F. Jones," he introduced. "It's nice—"

"Why did you come to the guild this morning?" you interrupted.

His sharp blue eyes glanced at the half-empty mug of beer clutched in your hand.

"I wanted to see you," he said. "I just thought that, you know, we could talk."

You glared at him. "So we have sex once, and suddenly you think you can waltz up to Arthur and demand to see me?" Drowning the rest of the drink, you slammed the cup on the counter. " 'e hates gunners! So I hate gunners, too."

"Aww, come on," Alfred simply teased. "We're not all arrogant assholes like Eyebrows thinks we are."

"You don't know anything," you snapped.

The boy was quiet for a moment.

"I know that you love him," he said softly, "and that you wish he wouldn't be so harsh on the younger guild members sometimes."

You froze. "…excuse me?"

He smiled sheepishly and shrugged. "You talk when you drink."

"I…what? When did I say those things?"

"A lot of times." When you gave him a look, he conceded. "I come here a lot, so that I can get the chance to talk to you. But you're always here with your friends and they look like they have high levels, so I kinda just settled for listening in—"

"Are you stalking me?" you accused incredulously.

"No!" he denied. "Well, maybe a little. But it's all for a good cause!"

"What cause?"

"I love you," he said.

You started. "But I don't even talk to you," you argued. "I didn't even know you existed until this morning. Which reminds me, did you take advantage of me when I was drunk?"

"No! I—We—That was—I was so stupid, I'm sorry!" He thumped his head on the table. "I just couldn't control myself. You were all up against me and I was drunk too and then you started talking to me and we—"

"Stop," you said, leaning away from him. "I don't want to hear any more."

Before you could leap off the stool, Alfred caught your arm. His hand felt warm against your skin.

"You complain about how he ignores you," he said. "You complain about how he hardly ever talks to you and that he forgets about your birthday and how he completely takes over your schedule without asking you!" His eyes were in earnest. "I fell in love with you the moment I saw you. I swear on my life, if you just give me a chance, I'll be everything you need. Just please, give me a chance to show you? I love you."

Your heart was thudding so close to your chest that you hesitated longer than you should, eyes wide and staring into his. Alfred took advantage of your uncertainty and slowly moved in to press his lips against yours, giving you time to pull away. You were still frozen, however, and he closed the distance.

"I love you so much," he murmured against your mouth. A gentle kisser.

Suddenly, the pub door was blasted off its hinges. Quickly, you recoiled from Alfred (who groaned in disappointment). Standing in the doorway, emerald eyes blazing, Arthur was murderous.

"Get away from her," he hissed.

Alfred's expression fell flat. "That's for [Name] to decide."

Without warning, Arthur's hand snapped out from his cloak, and Alfred flew back from an invisible force. He yelped out in pain, hitting the wall hard. Smoke rose up from his clothes.

"Arthur!" you shouted. "Calm down!" You could see the magic crackling and popping in the atmosphere around him.

Alfred got up, smirking. "What was that, a tickle?"

Moving as fast as lightning, the gunner whipped out a pistol from out of nowhere and fired a single shot at Arthur. You and he both gasped in surprise, but were confused when no bullet came flying out. However, a second later, Arthur flinched and nearly fell to his knees, clutching in invisible wound.

"I don't think we finished our duel from earlier," Arthur growled.

They met eyes, and then headed outisde. You stared after them, hopeless. _Damn it, just chose Arthur_, your mind screamed at you. _Chose Arthur!_

But you couldn't. Alfred was somehow weighing on the other half of your mind.

xXx

The moment the duel resumed, the mage played his trump card. Time to finish this bastard off and take [Name] back home where she belonged—with _him_. He had replaced his staff with a spell book (not that he hadn't already memorized all of its incantations). Feeling the ancient power purr all around him from the faded yellow pages, he let it fill his essence until he was brimming with power. In a single shout of jumbled spell-weaving, he flung a compacted part of his magic at the gunner.

Alfred grinned, waiting until the very last second before simply side-stepping out of the way. The magic missed and sizzled out, disappearing. Arthur cursed.

Lugging out his massive, multi-barreled firearm from his 'personal inventory,' Alfred cranked back a lever and let his gun charge. Arthur scoffed and cast multiple barriers around him, preparing for the full-scale blast of power from the gun.

Alfred fired, and it was like all Hell broke loose. At first, the gun shot nothing but air. But hardly in the span of a few seconds, the 'bullet' suddenly expanded into a massive ball of fire. It burst and spat flames, and when it hit Arthur's impenetrable barrier, it exploded. Bystanders that had been watching began to run away from the blast, shouting in panic. The fire bypassed you easily because of your Wild Magic, but Arthur was partially scathed by the heat.

"Bloody hell!" he shouted, smothering the fire on his cloak.

"Feeling a bit old, Eyebrows?" Alfred laughed, leaning casually against his gun.

Arthur glared. "Who the bloody fuck are you, to call me_ old_?"

Alfred paused dramatically, as if he had been waiting for that question all along. "I am Alfred F. Jones," he shouted for all to hear. "And I'm [Name]'s future husband!"

You blanched, praying that Alfred would just shut up.

Arthur's eyes literally glowed with power and ferocity. "Stupid gunner," he hissed. His staff squirmed until it shifted shapes into a double-edged blade. He ran at Alfred with surprising speed. "You don't deserve her!"

Alfred blocked his blow with a spare pistol, only to have the metal be sliced by Arthur's sword, smooth as a knife on melted butter. He pulled out a steel bat, as hard and resilient as diamond. Their weapons clashed together, sending loud echoes rebounding across the town.

They were so preoccupied that they didn't notice the storm clouds gathering above.

You were so stressed about their fighting that you didn't notice the long, sleek golden body lurking in the swath shadows.

And the townspeople were just as oblivious to the unnaturally silent lightning sporadically flashing at the ends of their vision. They were too busy watching the battle and marveling at the amazing expertise of the famous Arthur Kirkland, mage of mages. There were also whispers of Alfred F. Jones, the mysterious gunner that looked suspiciously like the young man who went under the strange name 'America,' and how if such a fighting legend was challenging their own magical legend…

A little girl screamed, "Mommy! The dragon is here!"

The great beast's warning cry was too late to save anyone. The only time you had, you used to snap your head up to the sky, eyes wide in fear. With a great roar, Gladiose the Lightning spread her great, beautiful wings and let loose a bolt of pure energy from the clouds. Blinding white light surged down from the chaos, and to your horror, it struck one of the two people you dared to hope it would miss.

Gladiose had regenerated, and she was back for a vengeance.

His blonde hair stood up on all its ends as he let out a cry of agony. Your mind went blank for a heart stopping moment.

"No!" you screamed, lunging out to catch him.

But he was already falling to the ground, dead.

Gladiose roared triumphant high above.

xXx


	50. Alive: America vs England part 5

49. Alive (America-England) [part 5]

xXx

The shock of how thing turned out was terrifying. You were too late to catch Arthur as he he tumbled to the ground, his body steaming wisps of thin smoke. Everywhere around you, chaos was in uproar—but you didn't care about anything save for the young man dying before you.

Crashing to the ground by his limp side, you furiously held onto hope. Arthur's eyes were still open! He was still breathing! But…

…there was the undeniable flicker in his form; the way one's existence wavered on the brink of death.

"Arthur," you whispered, voice thick. "No, don't leave me…" Years and years of memories with this young man flashed by, your eyes swelling with the heavy weight of tears. Receiving no reply, you gently lifted his head to rest in your arms, burying your face in his flickering chest.

A weak whisper caught your attention. "[N-Name]," Arthur stuttered.

You dared to look up, hope stinging your heart. But once you took in the full view of the damaged mage, you wished you'd never taken the chance. Arthur's eyes were wide with shock, his face frozen and lips trembling at the devastating Lightning attack. His body was stiff from paralysis, wracking with abrupt spasms. Your nightmare worsened as the flickering increased.

"Don't go," you cried quietly, tightening your grip on him as if to hold him to this life. "I d-don't want you to go. Please…stay here, Arthur? A-Arthur?"

Tears streamed down your face, a never ending source of misery.

Emerald gems still wide, something began to glimmer in the corner of his eyes.

"[Name]!" he gasped. "I…I—"

With a final shudder, his body convulsed one last time and fell still.

You stared into his empty eyes, another wave of misery overwhelming you; shaking you.

"…Arthur?"

Your arms clutched to his fading essence, body shaking violently. Arthur was dead! He was killed! Letting out a cry of pure agony, the whole world shook with despair. You mourned openly, uncaring whether anyone was watching. The sky suddenly began pouring with rain, and you thought madly, _Arthur hates the rain_.

From behind, a hand appeared and gently closed the mage's eyes. Anguish rolled over you when you realized that he looked as if he was merely sleeping. Numb with grief and guilt, you hardly spared Alfred a glance. Everything was wet and cold and horrible.

Alfred was pained as well. He understood how much you loved Arthur, romantically or not, and how this death was all his fault. _I shouldn't have tried to talk to her_, he regretted. _Damn it all!_ He desperately wanted to hold you close—to ease your suffering—but he knew that he was in no place to carry out such an intimate action.

Rain dripped down your nose and onto Arthur's peaceful face. Pressing your lips to his forehead one last time, his form finally gave a weak flicker before fading into nothing.

Your arms held empty air.

A mighty growl threw you out of your reverie. While you had been mourning, the mighty Gladiose was ravaging the town, bellowing roars for miles across, her Lightning striking down upon buildings as far as the eye could see. For a second, her golden snout sneered down at you, black eyes smug.

Before you knew it, you were up on your feet, mad with grief and anger. Standing in the spot where Arthur had died was like a fireball suddenly cast into a vat of oil—destructive on the mind and the soul. Alfred looked up at you in part awe and part fear. Your eyes were murder. Power crackled in his ear painfully. Quickly, he fled to watch your vengeance from a safer distance.

Eyes wild and insane, you snarled incoherent words at the golden beast. Every restriction flew off; the Wild Magic was completely free.

Any townsman that still dared to watch the events unfold before them was literally blown away from the torrent of raw power that exploded out from you. A hard, constant pressure whipped at their faces; some nearly couldn't find the strength to breathe. But you didn't care.

Words of power were unneeded in this particular conflict. In moments, the very extant of nature was under your fierce command, carrying out every malicious bidding you so desired. Gladiose cried out in pain as a bolt of a more powerful Lightning pierced her golden hide, causing her to fall to the ground. The wind berated her, ice began to form between her joints, a cold—an _unbelievable cold_—started to seep through the dragon's hot veins, sending spikes of pain up and down its body.

You slowly moved towards it, mage cloak violently tugged by the storm of nature, eyes striking with dark malice. For a moment, the great and mighty Gladiose looked afraid. It screamed at you, both terrified and hateful.

Giving the golden fiend a final glare, you cast magic to your palm and touched the dragon's massive snout. Immediately, Gladiose's golden skin set aflame, fire surging down its spine all the way to the extension of her tail. She howled in pure agony as the flames consumed her blinding figure.

"For Arthur," you scowled.

The beast burned to death in the middle of rain.

xXx

Funerals were never a custom. After all, when people died, they simply disappeared. There was hardly anything to bury.

The Kirkland Guild mourned despairingly over the loss of their cherished leader. They lit a candle in his honor and let it sail out to sea. You casted a spell that would protect the flame from any element of nature. The forest green candle would burn out on its own, and with it, Arthur's essence. Dozens of people kept asking you how many lives he had left and if he would take the path of re-spawning (a process where, if one were to die unexpectedly, then they would be offered a choice of truly dying or reappearing in the world as a new 'player,' starting from level one).

You were very sure that he would take the re-spawn. It saddened you even further, the fact that he would appear elsewhere in another region, and never remember the events of his past life.

He would never remember you.

The realization came gentler than you thought it would. _At least he's still alive_, you told yourself at night, when sadness struck. _He'll get another chance… At least he'll get another chance._

Alfred watched quietly from the sides as you slowly came out of your room more often every other week.

xXx

You weren't angry with him. In fact, sometimes you felt a strange force that tugged you to him when the sadness became too much to handle alone. He talked with you every day, love still very apparent in his eyes, but there was still a feeling of distance from him. You could tell that he was trying to detach himself from you. His reasons were obvious. He blamed himself for hurting you.

But you had already forgiven him.

After a few months of bleak and dark depression, the weight of Arthur's death finally lifted. The pain—though still there—was quietly subsiding to the point where you could truly think for yourself again. Grief had released you from its gloomy grasp, and you could finally move on.

xXx

One day, you went downstairs to have breakfast with Alfred, only to find a note folded neatly on the table where he usually sat with his morning coffee.

You read the letter and ran out the door as fast as you could. Alfred was hardly on the path to the city when you caught up with him, eyes very afraid. He started at the sudden embrace from behind, his heart pounding once he distinguished his assailant.

"[Name]," he choked. He fiddled with the gimmicks of his bag. "I'm sorry, but I can't stay here. I've already caused you too much pain."

There was a long moment of silence.

"Are you going to leave me, too?" you said quietly.

Those words sparked a daring hope inside Alfred. He turned back from whence he came from and walked all the way back home with you.

He had talked to you, fed you, cared for you when those around him obviously resented his presence. He had loved and devoted himself to healing you, he had mourned Arthur just as much as anyone else; he blamed himself for your pain and grief, and yet he threw himself into working to making you feel better. The moment you read his letter, you realized the weight of his actions and the deep, sincere feelings behind them.

It made you finally believe that losing Alfred would be just as bad as losing Arthur.

xXx

"[Name]," he said, just before you opened the door. "I want you to know something."

"Hm?" You paused.

His eyes were honest and clear, yet full of concern. "I want you to know that he may seem like he's gone, but he'll never truly disappear from your life. I just wanted to say that it's not good to stay sad forever, but it's okay to still think of him."

Smiling faintly, you said, "Thanks, Al. You don't know how much I owe you for staying with me."

He shook his head.

"You don't owe me anything."

Staring into his beautiful blue eyes for a long moment, your face broke into a smile. Hugging him tightly, his arms (though hesitant at first) enveloped you in a tenderness that you hadn't felt in a long time. Gentle breathing tickled your hair. Your eyes closed in bliss, letting the warmth of the moment fill your heart.

_I owe you everything, Al._

xXx

"Holy shit, Alfred!"

"Hmmmmm?"

"What is—why is there a—_what happened_?"

"No worries, [Name]. I was just trying something out with my new armor. I'll clean this up later, I promise!"

xXx

"Oh god, [Name], these scones are _awesome!_ Where'd you get the recipe from?"

"An old friend."

xXx

_**Alfred,**_

_**g2g get more blu/red pots**_

_**brb,**_

_**[name]**_

xXx

"You take the left, I'll sweep out the right and back!"

"Aww, not gonna save any mobs for me?"

"No. Your gun is too slow for these types of monsters."

"…fine. But if I clear off my side before you, then ice cream is your treat this time!"

"Deal."

xXx

"You had less monsters to deal with!" you complained as you paid for the ice cream.

Alfred, your boyfriend, grinned and licked his ice cream cone, savoring its sweet, sugary taste. "I won fair and square, [Name]. Serves you right, though, for thinking I couldn't handle all those monsters."

You simply rolled your eyes as you scanned the quiet park for a seat. Finding one, you leaped onto the bench cheerily. Alfred joined you soon enough and you leaned your back against his shoulder, both of you eating your hard-earned treat for the day.

"…ready for tomorrow?" he finally broke the silence.

You looked off into the distance, a sad, nostalgic smile on your face.

"Right. What color candle should it be? The same green?"

"Hmm. Maybe a yellow for his outstanding eyebrows."

You playfully punched him. "The same emerald green, then. Or should I make it a slight auburn for his Earl Grey Tea?"

Alfred scoffed a little. "I still don't understand why it's called Earl _Grey_ Tea when the color is clearly red."

"Who knows? Maybe it's red because people try to make the tea healthy like red potions."

"I seriously doubt it."

You looked up at the dark, nightly sky. "It's already been a whole year, Al. So much has changed."

"You sound like an old lady," he teased, instantly lightening the mood.

You laughed. "You know, I love it when you do that."

Alfred was confused. "Do what?" he asked.

"When you somehow make everything brighter and happier, even when it feels like it's anything but." you smiled. "I still remember when you used to talk to me the first few months after Arthur died. You were like…my way of getting outside under the sun without ever really leaving the room."

Alfred suddenly turned sheepish. "It's nothing. I just didn't want to see you in pain. Besides, all I did was talk to you. You did all the healing yourself."

"You watched over me so well," you continued as if you hadn't heard him. "I'm really grateful for all you've done for me. If it hadn't been for you, I wouldn't have been able to gone on living." You paused, and then laughed a little. "I'm alive because of you. You're like my guardian angel, Al."

You blushed from the sudden confession, and Alfred was stunned a little. In the end, he grinned widely. "If you really wanna say it that way, then I guess you _could_ just call me your hero," he suggested, blue eyes playful.

You kissed him on the cheek, quick as a humming bird.

"Thanks, Al. You really are my hero."

xXx


	51. Ice: England

50. Ice (England)

xXx

"[Name]!" a voice buzzed from the walkie-talkie on your hip.

Pausing in your latest read (Harry Potter—again), you pulled the talkie out of its holster and answered it, "Here. Watcha need?"

"I've got an injured player comin' your way. Not enough ice out here to help him."

You sighed. More injured college students with more bruises and sprains you would have to patch up. What made you volunteer for a job with the trainers, anyways? Oh yeah, your friend asked you to fill her in for the week while she was on vacation.

"Which one is he? A soccer player?"

"Yeah, the one swearing up and down. He caught a nasty blow on his nose, ribs, and shins."

"Crap." You sighed. Treating injuries wasn't really your thing. The trainer's room was empty, so at least you wouldn't have Vash breathing down your neck, glaring at your 'mediocre' bandaging skills. Into the talkie, you said, "What's the poor guy's name?"

"Kirkland."

xXx

He came in just as the field trainer said he would—swearing to high heavens, back down, and everything in between. His teammates gave you a sheepish look as they set him gently down on a stretcher at your request. They explained what happened, punched the injured boy playfully (discreetly winking in your direction), and ran out back to practice, leaving you all alone with Mr. Grumpy Pants.

He just glared at the wall sourly as you carried out some simple tests on his arms and legs. The damage was fairly extensive, but hardly anything to get worked up on.

"You just need to ice your legs and chest," you said, preparing a couple ice packs for him. "Keep the ice on for at least thirty minutes."

Finally, for the first time, he addressed you, "What? These bruises are nothing! I have to get back to practice now."

Placing a firm hand on his chest, you pushed him back down on the stretcher, earning a painful groan from him. "These _bruises_ aren't serious. But keep moving like that, and you won't even be able to move by Saturday's game."

Throwing you a glare (ha, as if it was your fault he got injured in the first place), he sighed extensively, settling back on the makeshift bed. "Can I go back to practice after I ice this?"

"No," you said sternly, handing him his ice packs and going back to your chair. "You're out from practice for the rest of this week." Before he could protest, you cut him off, "Of course, if you come back after school on Friday, then I can look you over and decide whether or not you're allowed to play on Saturday."

Kirkland looked outraged, but held his tongue. "No problem then. I heal fast."

Your eyes scanned his bruised, beaten body and bloody nose.

"Let's hope so."

Flipping the pages of your book, you decided that this bitter British boy wasn't really worth your time and that it would be easier to ignore him as he lay down awkwardly on the cot. But not long after you picked up where you left off, the boy spoke to you.

"Is that…Order of the Phoenix?" he asked.

You looked up, surprised. Not many people in your particular college cared about books like you did.

"Why, yes it is. I'm re-reading the series from the beginning again."

Kirkland looked vaguely interested. "Which one's your favorite?"

You thought for a bit. "I love them all, but I would have to say both the first and last books."

He nodded approvingly. "I particularly enjoyed the seventh book. The ending was perfectly drawn out to a brilliant conclusion."

The two of you stared at each other for a bit.

"Sorry," he said, "what was your name again?"

"[Full Name]," you replied. "And yours?"

"Kirkland. Arthur Kirkland."

xXx


	52. Go Down Fighting: Japan

51. Go Down Fighting (Japan)

xXx

Hot tea always managed to soothe him. Sometimes, when the loud voices of other countries proved too much for the tired Japanese country, he would withdraw into his home and pour himself a cup of tea, just like he used to hundreds of years ago when he was once isolated from the world. The calm, warm aroma of tea had quite the effect on him. Almost magic.

Japan sighed, lifting the cup for another sip. Drinking tea was wonderful, yes, but sometimes the soothing fragrance brought back painful memories from the past.

He sipped once more, wondering which memory the tea would trigger this time.

xXx

_He wanted to tell her. He desperately wanted to tell her._

_He wanted to tell her the whole truth of how he was a country, how her efforts in the war were useless, and how she _had_ to withdraw—and withdraw _now_. She would lose this battle. She would be killed. _

_"Don't worry, Honda-san," she said with a wild grin on her face as she brandished the deadly edge of her katana. "I left a letter for my father and my family. They'll understand why I had to come here. I swore that I would at least die a warrior's death, so as not to dishonor the family name."_

_His eyes were tortured. "[Name]-san, you cannot fight in this war!" he begged. "The Americans have given me—have given them guns and firearms. They are trained, disciplined soldiers, and they have sworn to never surrender—"_

_"_I_ have sworn to never surrender," she cut him off, a fierce look in her eyes. "I have given my word and honor that I will never surrender until the end." Before he could pick up on his begging, she said critically, "Honda-san. Where is your armor? Aren't you going to fight?"_

_"I…I'll be—" He stopped. _I'll be curling in on myself in my room while you tear each other apart. _"My family calls me home. They won't allow me to fight in the battle."_

_The harsh light in her eyes dimmed a little, softened by pity. "I guess…I guess you can't deny your parent's wishes outright." [Name] looked away, her hair falling like a curtain to hide her face. "…did I do the right thing, Honda-san? Was abandoning my family for Japan the right thing?" She felt tears prickling at the corners of her eyes. Would she ever see her family again?_

_Japan knew that she wouldn't. _

_Taking a deep, shaky breath, he said softly, "No, I believe that you shouldn't have left home to fight a losing war." He hesitated. "But, to have a warrior like you fight for her country so fiercely…Japan would hold you in the highest honor. I am sure of it."_

_Smiling to herself, his words ringed with clarity and truthfulness. "Thank you, Honda-san. I will take your words to heart."_

_In that moment, Japan wrapped his arms around her, strong and tight. [Name] was surprised by the gesture, but not uncomfortable. It was like he was quietly telling her good-bye. _

_"There's still time," he whispered, holding her close. "You can still withdraw."_

_Closing her eyes, [Name] slowly shook her head. Gently turning in his arms and returning the embrace, she said into his ear, "I will either win and triumph as a warrior of Japan, or go down fighting."_

_After their first, and last, kiss good-bye, [Name] set outside the private tent to join her fellow combatants for battle. Horses huffed and whirred impatiently. Every sword and spear was sharpened to perfection. Longbows were drawn back for war. _

_She would die a warrior's death. _

xXx

_"It's simple, Japan," said the unsmiling American. "Surrender now and save millions of innocent lives, or we drop the bomb. Again."_

_Japan was still reeling from the blast in Nagasaki. His skin was pale, a thin sheet of hot sweat plastering his hair to his sticky skin. First Hiroshima, then Nagasaki, and now he threatens to do it a third time? he was a monster! That bastard!_

_Gritting his teeth, he could see images of long ago when America had first visited him. He saw memories of immigrants and Westerners as they flashed through his mind. He saw the mighty image of [Name], fighting for her country's honor, as she was shot down almost immediately in battle. _

_"I…" Japan's thick throat caught. All he had to do was refuse. He would go down fighting! The Japanese would thrust themselves further into battle! The war in Europe may have been over, but the Pacific could be _his_. All he had to do was refuse—refuse and—_

_And let his people die. _

_There was an infinite moment of utter silence. _

_"I surrender," he whispered hoarsely. His eyes were cast down, so he did not see the relief that passed over his adversary's face. _

_Papers shuffled as they were handed down to him. Japan could see nothing as he blindly scribbled signatures on its contents, not bothering to read what was written because he already knew what it said. _

_Please forgive me, [Name]. But I have no right to sacrifice the lives of my people for the sake of my own honor. _

_Somewhere, deep in his heart, he knew that [Name] would've smacked him on the head if he had chosen any different. _

xXx

Japan's breath fogged in the cold morning air. Sighing deeply, he gazed at the spot on his tatami mat where he could just imagine the image of [Name] sitting there, enjoying the tea and sharing her many thoughts with him.

He paused, letting the image imprint itself into his mind. The way her hair framed her face, the way her eyes glittered with excitement, the way her mouth was always curled into an open smile.

The image of [Name] waved and disappeared from the room. Japan wondered if he had imagined her, or if the hallucination had been a spirit wishing him peace at heart. It could have been neither. It could have been both.

He took another calming sip of tea, and all was quiet in his mind once again.

xXx


	53. See You In Hell: Prussia part 1

52. See You In Hell (Prussia) [part 1]

xXx

Your friends said you really tried to hold back.

Witnesses say otherwise.

"I'm very disappointed in you, [Name]," the principle sighed. "This fighting has got to stop. What is this, the fifth time this week?"

"The third, actually," you replied smartly. "You shouldn't be so judgmental, mister. It's not like I ask for fights—"

"But you do, [Name]! You do ask for it!" His eyes burned the surface of the desk as if all he wanted to do right then was to slam his fist into it. "This is the last time you fight in my school! Your parents have agreed with your counselor and me about your future concerning academic procedures."

"Eh? What the hell are you talking about?"

He looked at you directly in the eyes, and you swore you could see a gleam of satisfaction in them.

"You'll be transferred to a juvenile encampment for the rest of your high school career. There will be no withdrawal or reassignment once the paper work is completed."

You stood up from your chair in anger and shock. "The fuck are you—" Suddenly, guards appeared by your side and restrained your arms. "Damn you, old man!"

"Have fun at camp!" he laughed snidely as you were dragged away, dark eyes burning for a good punch in the face.

xXx

"Oi," an irritated voice said. "Get up. I don't have all day."

Even closed, your eye twitched. "Fine, fine. Don't get your panties in twist."

The bus driver shot you a dirty look, his hand slowly moving towards the gun in his holster. "Get off the bus before I make you get off!"

"Shut up, Grandpa."

Dashing off the bus before the man could kill you, you felt a tad bit better now that you'd pissed someone else off. The bus driver took off and you slung your bag over your shoulder, looking around with narrowed eyes for another target.

"[Full Name]," a low voice rumbled. You snapped your head up expectantly, but a pair of intense blue eyes stopped you. In front of you stood a tall, young man with slicked back hair and a light weight security uniform. "Welcome to IJCA. My name is Ludwig, and I'm the head of security here."

You scoffed. "The barbed fences look more of a threat than you do."

His eyes pierced deeply into yours. "I hope we will not have to meet again anytime soon." He gestured towards a small cluster of buildings. "Your dormitories are in the girls' wing. I'm sure you've already gotten your room assignment and paper work. You have ten minutes to change into your uniform and come to the dining hall."

"I'm not hungry."

"I don't care. Your ten minutes start now." You stuck your tongue at him, but turned away anyways. Behind you, Ludwig muttered, "_Ich weiß nicht genug bezahlt, dies zu tun._"

Grinning, you said over your shoulder, "_Nein, Sie nicht._"

Ludwig blinked in surprise, but it was already too late to reply.

xXx

In the 'dining hall' (a prison-like room with drilled-in-place tables and benches), you picked at your food moodily. With most of the tables taken by cliques and groupies, there was hardly anywhere you could sit. So you settled for an empty table off near the side, unfortunately close to a bunch of immature guys wolf whistling for you to join them.

"Hey, _chica!_" one of them called to you. "Sit with us!"

"Just ignore them," a voice said next to you. Glancing at the intruder, you turned away and decided to ignore the annoying American. "Those guys don't really want to be your friend. They just want to see if you're bullying material for them."

You placed your fork down and took a sip from your ice cold water.

"But you look tough," he continued to talk. The boy even picked up a fry from your plate and popped it clean into his mouth. "Hey, I've got an idea. Why don't you and me stick together? I'm kinda new here too, but I'm pretty strong myself. With you by my side, I'm sure we can avoid mishaps and get through this stupid academy without any kind of trouble, you get what I mean?" The boy gave you a bright, friendly smile.

"Stop conning the poor girl, Alfred," a Brit interrupted from the next table over. "She's probably already got enough things to worry about without you breathing down her neck for money."

The American's face fell immediately. "Shut up!" he snapped at the British boy. "Great, thanks a lot, Iggy. She was probably loaded! And then you had to open your big mouth and ruin everything."

You refrained yourself from marveling at the English boy's impressive eyebrows. Instead, you said, "You were going to con me?"

Alfred grinned shamelessly. "Well, I was going to _try_. You don't look easy to trick, though."

"…so it's the same here, too, huh," you muttered.

"What's that? I couldn't hear you."

"Never mind," you said. "I don't have any money with me. If you don't have any other business with me, go find some other dimwit to trick. I'm not in the mood right now."

Alfred blinked and stared at you for a moment, and then his grin widened. "I like you. You're cool."

"I'm flattered. Now leave."

"But you're not even eating anything!" he complained.

"Take my plate, then," you said nonchalantly. "I'm not hungry."

"Awesome! Thanks."

"Did I hear someone say my name?" a loud, rough voice cut in.

You and Alfred looked up to see an arrogant figure standing in front of the table, looking tall and smirky. The boy had tricked out, punk-silver hair and sharp red eyes. His gleaming white teeth flashed under the weak lighting of the dining hall.

"Gilbert," Alfred said, his smile fading a little. "You need something?"

"I just need to give the new girl my room number," he said, smirking wide. "Just in case she ever gets lonely and needs my awesomeness to cheer her up at night."

What the—

Alfred laughed after looking at your expression. "I don't think she likes you, Gilbo."

Ignoring the American, he leaned forward on the table, his shadow enveloping you. "How about it, babe? You up for a good time?"

Resisting the urge to give him a mouthful of your _fist_, you retorted, "Sorry, I don't do girl-on-girl action."

The whole dining hall fell silent.

For a moment, you panicked. Did you overstep too far? This was only your first day, and that _was_ a little over the line, wasn't it? But suddenly, one of the tables next to you started roaring with laughter and soon, everyone else joined in. Alfred was one of the loudest. He gave you a proud slap to the back, to which you returned with an irritated elbow to the ribs.

_Gilbert_, on the other hand, was more than a little ticked off. His eyes narrowed and his fists clenched.

"So you think you're smart, don't you?" he hissed.

"Go away, whatever the hell your name is," you replied, just as venomous. "I'm not in the fucking mood."

The albino's jaw clenched, but he withdrew nonetheless. His friends (the hooligans sitting next to you) threw him big, teasing smiles—and for a second, you felt a little guilty. But then the boy drew himself up and spat in your food.

That was the last straw. Immediately, you climbed up on the bench to launch yourself at his cocky face, but Alfred saw it coming and grabbed onto the back of your uniform, trying to pull you back down. "It's not worth it," he hissed to you. "Ludwig's gonna be all over you if you pick a fight here."

An array of colorful vocabulary spilled out. "Fuck!" you shouted, not caring who was watching anymore (rest assured, all eyes were on you). "Just let me shut his face up! Just once!"

"No!" Another pair of hands joined to help Alfred keep you down. From the corner of your eye, you saw the Brit-boy struggle to keep your arms from tearing Alfred apart. "Settle this elsewhere! You are _not_ making us go into lockdown again!"

"What's wrong, babe?" Gilbert smirked, eyebrows wiggling for a challenge. "Too weak to fight me?"

Red tinged the ends of your vision. "You're all the fucking same!" you spat at him, feeling your restraints getting weaker by your furious efforts. "Every single one of you—_arrogant pricks_ that think they can just walk all over me." The emotions building up inside you for so long began to uncoil in your chest. "Don't think that I'll just sit around and take it!"

People around you looked quite surprised by your outburst; some eyed you nervously. Even Alfred loosened his hold on you to stare up at you in surprise.

Quickly taking advantage of his distraction, you finally wrenched free from their grasps and lunged forward on the table. However, before you could finally slam your fist into that arrogant shit's face, a hand suddenly whipped you back by the collar. For a second, you saw stars. But when your head slammed into the table, the daze was knocked clean out of you and you could see a familiar pair of blue eyes boring down upon you.

"I was hoping we wouldn't have to meet again so soon," Ludwig sighed.

The surrounding students that could see you from where they were sitting gasped as the German security guard pulled out a syringe kit from his pack.

_"That's a level four sedative pack!" _someone whispered. Another person hushed them quickly.

Glaring up at Ludwig's calm, focused face, you knew it was useless to struggle against his unbreakable hold. Still, you wriggled and thrashed around—caught up in a rage that you couldn't control. Ludwig ordered Alfred to prepare the sedative (_quickly_, he growled) while he kept you from lashing out at anyone. The American did as he was told (_damn his nimble fingers_).

"Sit down, Gilbert!" Ludwig demand, his baritone voice rumbling.

"She started it!" the albino complained, but took a seat nonetheless, mouth pursed into a pout.

"Fuck you," you said angrily at the arrogant prick.

Gilbert merely smirked. "How hard?"

"_Gilbert!_"

"Go to hell," you growled_. _There was a sudden pierce in your left arm, and you winced.

Gilbert's smirk grew larger and larger.

"I'll see you there, babe," he murmured, just before the drug took effect and the world went dark.

xXx


	54. Boredom: Prussia part 2

53. Boredom (Prussia) [part 2]

xXx

Being under lockdown sucks.

For one, you were stuck in a solitary room in the Detention Center for a whole twenty-four hours. No entertainment center, no computer, no phone (not that your parents even bothered to _get_ you one anyways), and no communication to the outside world. Food was brought for all three meals, but they sucked shit. And the only form of entertainment was in the form of (vandalized) children's books, a bunch of board games (all multi-player), a stack of papers, and a box of pens. Located to the sides was a small bathroom stall, a simple bed with a blanket and pillow, a small couch, and a water fountain.

You scoffed. At least they gave you a light switch so you could choose when to sleep.

"I'll be back tomorrow morning at eight to bring you breakfast," Ludwig said through the telecom on the other side of the door. And then he left.

Sighing, you looked around for a clock to tell what time it was. You finally found one integrated in the bathroom wall. It read: 8:00 PM.

So basically, you had twelve hours to kill before Ludwig came back to break the boredom.

Great. Just great.

xXx

After three hours of reading the same children's books over and over again and drawing meaningless doodles on paper, you decided that you couldn't take it anymore. Tossing the books to the side and marching straight to the locked door, you tried opening it by turning the handle. No success.

As you inspected the lock, a voice suddenly blared on the telecom, "Hey! It's Alfred! You there?"

"…yeah, I'm here."

"Awesom—I mean, that's great! Hey, I don't think you ever told me your name."

"I haven't," you replied. "Hey, can you tell me what the keypad on the other side looks like?"

"You trying to break out?" When you didn't answer, Alfred chuckled. "Fine, I'll tell you. But you have to tell me your name first."

You hesitated, but said, "It's [Name]. Now tell me how many numbers are on the pad, and how many buttons there are besides numbers."

"[Name]. That's a pretty name. Uh, there's ten numbers, 0-9, and there's an enter button and a cancel button."

"Thanks. Do you know where Ludwig is right now?"

"He's off campus for his night job, so his cousin and his cousin's girlfriend are taking over security. The pansy rich-boy you don't have to worry about, but the lady's pretty scary with her frying pan."

As you worked the lock with your pen and hidden credit card, you smirked. "Frying pan? You wouldn't know this by experience, would you, Al?"

Through the telecom, Alfred laughed nervously. "Of course not! I just—hey, you just called me Al!" His voice sounded happy.

You paused in your work. "So?"

"No, it's just…never mind. Did you figure out the lock yet?"

"Yeah, I'm just having a little trouble with getting the pen to catch."

Alfred whistled, but the sound came out as a screech through the speaker. "That's probably the fastest time anyone's ever gotten. It took me six hours in before I figured it out. Of course, I don't think anyone will ever beat Romano's and Feliks' record. Those guys are lock-picking menaces."

"…do they do regular checks on this room?" you asked, just as something in the lock clicked and beeped. Putting a cautious hand on the handle, you slowly opened the door. No alarms…good.

"Great job," Alfred congratulated, grinning from ear to ear. "It's only 11:00 and you've already committed your second offense!"

"What was the first one?" you asked, quietly closing the door.

"You tried to pick a fight with Gilbert. Not that that's bad, you know." He gave you an impressive look. "But dang, you're a level four case? I'm only a two."

As you followed Alfred down a hallway to a door that lead outside, you asked, "What do levels have to do with anything?"

"Levels have to do with a lot of things. The higher the level, the more dangerous the student. There's six levels in all, and each level is treated a certain way. As far as I know, there's only two level 6's and a few level 5's here. A lot of us are in 2 or 3. What did you do to get a 4?"

"I killed someone," you said jokingly.

Alfred simply shook his head. "You'd be a 6 if you did."

You stared at him for a moment, and then said nonchalantly, "I get into fights. That's it."

"You must be really good then, if you've been sent here because you fight." He rolled his eyes. "Everyone fights here."

"Oh really?"

"Yeah, you wouldn't believe ho—shit!" he hissed. Quickly, he looked around and pulled you into a shadowy alcove and shushed you.

You were smart enough not to protest. Footsteps sounded alarmingly close, and you could hear voices talking nearby.

"…and then he gave me a flower," a female voice said happily. "That boy is so sweet. I've always wondered if he and Lovino were really twins when they're so different from each other."

Another voice, a male's, replied, "They were raised differently, that's all there is to it."

"Ha, ha. You would know about that, Roderich. Wasn't your family and the Vargas family close?"

"Yes, they were. But we separated from them a while back. In fact, I hadn't seen either of the twins until Ludwig started working here."

Alfred and I tried not to breathe as the footsteps grew closer. Suddenly though, they stopped.

"Uh oh! Did you remember to call Ludwig?" the woman asked.

"No," the man said in surprise. "Come, we should do that now. Room checks can wait."

"Okay."

As the footsteps and their owners slowly faded away, you finally pulled away from the hiding place and looked around.

"Were those two the night guards?" you asked.

"Yep," Alfred answered. "Like I said, the dude's not as scary as his girlfriend." He sighed. "Looks like I can't stay to give you a tour, [Name]. Sorry about that, but I don't feel like getting assaulted by a frying pan again. You don't have to worry. They don't check the Detention rooms."

You laughed. "It's no big deal. Is there some place I can just sit down outside?"

Alfred thought for a bit. "You could go to the roof. But I think there's someplace else you'd like better." He smiled. "Do you like climbing trees?"

xXx

The breeze that wafted through the tree leaves felt wonderfully cool against your skin. Above you, the stars were like glitter against a satiny, velvet sky and below, crickets chirped a gentle lullaby. Peace and quiet lulled you into a sense of calm that you hadn't felt in a long time.

Times like this, you wished that there could've been more opportunities back home. Maybe if your parents had backed off a bit and let you be for a while, then you wouldn't be stuck here in this godforsaken camp for the rest of your school life.

"…stinking West had to go and put me under confinement," a raspy voice suddenly said below you. Startled, you nearly fell out of the tree. But somehow, you managed to orientate your body on the high branch enough to peer down through the leaves and see…

It was Gilbert, the arrogant prick! You leaned forward to listen to what he was saying.

"Damn it, what do I do now?" he huffed, leaning against the tree trunk. "Argh! This is so not awesome! It's all _her_ fault. Just 'cause she's a level 4 she thinks she can just do anything she wants. That bitch."

Surprisingly, your anger didn't overtake you. Instead of leaping down at him like a madwoman, you just sat back and tried to relax while ignoring the albino below you. Unfortunately, this was impossible with him shaking the tree so much—

Wait, he was shaking the tree? Holy crap, Gilbert was climbing up!

xXx


	55. Stars: Prussia part 3

54. Stars (Prussia) [part 3]

xXx

There was no time to hide. You quickly settled back into a fake slumber, slowing your breathing down until you were sure you at least looked asleep. There was a grumble and a few snapping twigs to your right. Furthering your charade, you made a soft yawning noise and shifted in your 'sleep'.

Immediately, Gilbert stopped muttering. Slowly, he drew himself up another level of branches and looked around, surprised to find a figure already sitting in his spot! Or more like _sleeping_ in his spot. Heaving himself up, he saw that it wasn't just anybody sitting there—it was the girl from earlier!

He was debating whether or not it was a good idea to push her out of the tree when the girl shifted in her sleep again. He was amazed by how stupid she was to fall asleep here in the first place. What if she fell and broke a bone or something? At this height, he wouldn't be surprised if she broke her neck from the fall.

He frowned. Just because she was annoying didn't mean she deserved a broken neck. He moved around a bit to make sure that the branches hugged her body in such a way that she would be secure. Even in a camp uniform (long red shorts and a white t-shirt), he noticed that she still looked hot.

Wait, wait, wait. What was he doing? Surely he wasn't just checking her out while she was sleeping? Damn, that's creepy.

But he couldn't help it, really. Peering closer, the Prussian welcomed himself to a better look of the sleeping girl, convincing himself that there wouldn't be another chance like this again. His eyes traced the outlines of her peaceful face, and he found himself wanting to wake her up to ask her for her name.

Gilbert breathed out, leaning back into the tree. What the fuck was wrong with him? And why was his heart beating to quickly?

"Need something, Gilbert?" a voice suddenly said.

"Holy crap!" he said, nearly falling out of the tree. "Y-You were awake?"

You finally opened your eyes and 'stretched'. "Yeah. Actually, I was awake the whole time. You're kinda creepy, you know."

To your astonishment, he didn't take the bait. Instead, he rolled his neck and popped his jaw a few times like this encounter meant nothing to him. "Y-You know it's almost midnight. At one o' clock, they shut down most of the building's electricity, which includes the keypad on your door. You won't be able to get back in until five."

You raised an eyebrow. "You're helping me?"

"Yeah. Got a problem?"

"…no, I'm just surprised. Thanks, I guess. What happened to hating me and spitting in my food?"

"It's not my fault you were being a bitch," he replied. Then he cursed to himself for sounding like an ass.

But all you did was laugh. "Yeah, I kinda was bitchy, huh?"

"Hey," he said after a while, watching as the dormitory lights went off one by one. "I heard from my brother that you're a level four. How'd you manage to do that?"

You sighed. "I don't know. I get into fights. But I'm probably here because my parents are being assholes and they hate me."

"Hmm. I think I've heard that story before."

Despite yourself, you smiled. "I guess I'm not the only one with a crappy life. What level are you?"

"Three. I don't care, though. They just can't grasp the true meaning of my awesomeness," he said.

"Suuure."

"Hey!" he pouted. "Don't be jealous just 'cause you're not awesome."

You sighed. "Could you stop using the word 'awesome'? It's really annoying."

"No," he said stubbornly. "I'll say whatever I want to say."

"Whatever."

The two of you fell into awkward silence. Picking at the ends of your shirt, you tried to come up with something to say. Conversation wasn't really your strong suit since you never really cared for small talk. It was all about banging fists and exchanging grins to you. But here, in this new prison-like school where everyone was some sort of 'bad kid,' it seemed like grinning and bumping fists was going to be highly unlikely the first few weeks.

Gilbert finally broke the silence. Looking away from you, he said awkwardly, "Look, normally I'd kick you out of this tree 'cause only awesome people can climb up here. But since you were here first, and I don't want West getting mad at me again, I give you permission to stay."

He nodded solemnly, and you felt the urge to roll your eyes, but you didn't. Instead, you gave him a small (_small_) smile and moved around in your seat a bit to face him.

"What?" he said, feeling a little uncomfortable under your stare.

"I guess you can be nice if you try," you remarked. Gilbert's face twisted into an expression of insult, and you laughed. Just as he was about to retort, you said, "Okay, I'm going back in now. See ya!"

Before you could slide off the branch, Gilbert seemed to remember something. He stopped you by leaning forward and putting a hand on your leg. "Wait! What's your name?"

Giving him a playful grin, you shook your head and continued to go down anyways. Landing perfectly on the ground, you casually brushed off stray leaves that fell in your hair. Above you, there was a grunt of protest.

"Just tell me your name!" he hissed/whispered.

"Not until you use the magic word!" you sung quietly.

Another reluctant grunt. "What are you, five years old?"

"Nope. I'm just me."

And with that, you left him in the tree to stare up at the stars alone.

xXx


	56. Darkness: Prussia part 4

55. Darkness (Prussia) [part 4]

xXx

While trying to find your way back to the confinement room, you took a wrong turn and ended up in a long, dark hallway that you didn't recognize. Taking care to memorize the numbers on the doors that lead back to where you came from, you kept walking forward, a little curious as to why the rooms ahead looked slightly…different. There were no signs marking their room numbers, nor were there any number key pads integrated in the door knob. There was just a simple touch pad and a place to slide a card through. As if the simplicity of the lock wasn't different enough, there were thick, old school metal locks holding the door closed as well.

You lightly touched an iron chain. _Damn, what are they trying to keep locked up here?_

Walking further down the dark, isolated hallway, you spotted an eerie red glow ahead. Braving your nerves, you walked all the way down to the end and came to a stop in front of the last two rooms, both sitting opposite of each other.

Above each secured door was an electronic sign that glowed bloody crimson.

**6**, it read.

"Ah! Is there someone there?" a chirpy voice asked. It sounded like the voice of a child.

"Y-Yeah," you said, surprised by how young the prisoner was. Maybe this wasn't a room for level 6's? "Why are you here?"

The voice said nothing for a while. And then suddenly, "Ha ha! That's a cute question. Why are _you_ here?" It was closer, right next to the door. "No, a better question would be: what's your name?"

"It's [Name]. What's yours?"

"Monster, demon, freak!" the voice sang. Surely it had to be a little boy? "But you can call me Ivan, [Name]. Ivan Braginski."

"Okay, Ivan. So why are you here? Is this your room?"

"_Ufu~_ Of course not, silly! They put me in this room because they said I was being a bad boy!" The boy laughed. "Silly children cannot understand me. It's sad, isn't it? But you wouldn't understand, would you, [Name]?" His tone sounded off, like it was playing a false note.

"No, I don't understand," you replied. "But that doesn't mean you can look down on me and pretend that you understand me, too."

"Well, someone thinks they're smart," he said, sounding amused. "You sound very pleasant! I wish I could open this door and see you." He sighed. "But Ludwig is starting to get smarter now. He keeps changing the access code so I can't break out."

"Really?" You suddenly realized that while it was easy to get out, it might be hard to get back in. "I think I have to go soon. I'm in a confinement room, too, and I have to get back in before they turn off the power lines."

"Really?" the voice said excitedly. "You're just like me?"

"I-I'm just a level four, though—"

"Uwaaa!" Giggles. "A level four! You're the first level four that's actually fun to talk to! They let me out tomorrow, so I hope we can be good friends! Good friends…"

This conversation was starting to creep you out a little. "Yeah, me too. Good night, Ivan! Maybe I'll see you tomorrow."

"Zero, three, seventeen."

"What?"

"Good night, [Name]," he said, and you could tell he was smiling. "Sweet dreams, ufu~"

Yeah. Definitely creepy.

"Brother…hey, brother," a girl's voice whispered from the other door. You glanced at the evil 6 glowing down upon you, and were reminded that these two were supposed to be murderers. "_Brother_, who are you talking to? Are you talking to someone? Tell me, brother…tell me who you're talking to."

"Go away!" the boy screamed. You heard loud footsteps tripping over themselves, scrambling to escape to the other side of the room. "Go away go away GO AWAY!"

"Brother!"

"GO AWAY!"

So you did—not running for your life of course, but you walked away rather quickly.

xXx

_'Zero, three, seventeen?'_

Turned out to be the combination for your door.

Yup. Creepy.

xXx


	57. Food: Prussia part 5

56. Food (Prussia) [part 5]

xXx

_BZZZZEEEP!_

The loud screech of the telecom startled you out of your sleep. After a moment of struggling with the blanket, it took you a second to remember where you were. The speaker screeched again and you irritatingly heaved yourself off the bed, shouting, "God damn it, shut up!"

Ludwig was waiting on the other side. To your surprise, his voice buzzed, "Good morning, [Name]. Last night was your first offense in the IJCA, so I'm letting you out early. When you're ready to go, press the button by the door. You have five minutes, starting now."

You grunted grumpily, but complied anyways. Geez, this guy sure loved setting time limits.

Pressing the button on the handle, you heard a beeping sound on the other side. The door opened immediately, and you were greeted by the sight of Ludwig being harassed by a familiar American.

"[Name]!" Alfred said happily. "Welcome back!"

You had to hold in your wide grin as Ludwig shoved Alfred off of him. "Don't make me give you laps," he threatened.

"Sure, sure," Alfred said easily. "Come on, Ludwig! I heard the commie got in trouble again! What'd he do? What'd he get in trouble for this time?"

"I don't have time to discuss this with you," the German grunted. "Since you're here already, bring [Name] to breakfast. And if you ask me about Ivan again, I'll make you run laps with Gilbert."

He walked away from us, and Alfred and you watched as he disappeared around the corner.

"Gilbert's getting laps~" Alfred sang teasingly so that his voice echoed down the hall. Someone shouted, _"Shut up!"_

"Let's go, [Name]!" he said, dragging you down the hall.

xXx

In the dining hall, you were greeted by many smiling faces, much to your surprise. Some even gave you a high five as you walked by. It puzzled you, but you said nothing and just enjoyed the attention.

"I thought I heard West let you out early," Gilbert said as you sat down with your food. He and his two friends (a Hispanic and a blonde) joined your table, sitting across from Alfred and the British dude.

"Bloody Frenchman," Eyebrows muttered.

"Oh, stop being a punk, Arthur," the blonde guy replied. "It's unattractive. Unlike this newcomer, of course. _Ma cherie_, would you please give me the _pleasure_ of knowing your name?"

You kept your hand firmly away from Frenchie, afraid he might take it of his own accord and plant a kiss.

"Don't do it," Alfred warned as he chomped on his pancakes. "Francis is a level 5 for extreme sexual harassment. He'll rape you in your sleep if you tell him anything about yourself."

"Wh-What? _Excusez-moi!_"

"But it's true," the Spaniard laughed. "Sorry, _chica_, eh? This is Francis, level 5, and I'm Antonio, level 3."

You looked at the Briton. "And who are you?"

"Arthur Kirkland, level 2."

"Nice, to meet you, I guess," you said uncaringly, taking a bite of your waffles.

Gilbert was just about to say something when his eye caught something else in the background. He suddenly paled. You didn't notice anything until a loud, cheery voice made you jump (along with everyone else in the dining hall):

"[Naaaaaame]! Ahh, I wonder which one of you is [Name]…"

Turning your head, you expected to see the figure of a child calling your name. What you saw was completely different. Holding a tray of hot soup and sweeping the dining hall with intelligent, amethyst eyes was a giant—his beige tousled locks falling carelessly around his cheeky face. As the smiling young man walked through the aisles, other students were very careful not to have any sort of contact with him, doing their best to avoid the swaying of his long, pink scarf.

His eyes suddenly found yours, and you shivered for a moment before steeling your nerves. _He's probably a really nice murderer_, you thought positively._ He sounded really lonely last night. All he needs is a friend… Right…_

"Ivan?" you said hesitantly, as if you were more afraid of getting it wrong than actual answer (rest assured, the latter was your real concern).

You immediately knew it was right to confirm his identity, because Ivan's eyes lit up like Christmas lights.

"Ufu~ You remember me? Ahaha!" He headed straight for uour table, almost skipping. "You're so pretty, [Name]! Prettier than I expected!" Gilbert twitched.

You blushed, surprised. No one's ever called you pretty before. "Th-Thanks, but I don't think so." Changing the subject, you said, "Alfred! Stop stealing my food!"

The American's fork froze in its tracks, and then retreated. "Tch. Not like you were going to eat it anyways," he mumbled.

Ivan's eyes flashed to Alfred, as if glancing at a bug flying past him. "Ah, Alfred. Being a pig like always, huh?"

"Shut up," was the muttered reply.

Ivan merely kept smiling as he took a seat next to Alfred, obviously taking pleasure in irritating the boy. It was then that you realized how awkward the atmosphere had gotten since Ivan arrived. _Damn it, I hate awkward stuff like _this, you thought as you glanced at your half-empty glass of water. Once you were finished with your drink, you could escape to your room.

"Why are you drinking so fast?" Gilbert said, frowning.

You gasped and dropped your cup down. "No reason!" Getting up from the table, you said, "I'm done! Thank you for the meal!"

"But you didn't even finish!" Alfred called after you.

"You can have it!" you called back, just as you hit the exit and ran out the door.

xXx

"…what was that about?"

"It's all your fault, Ivan."

"Ehhh? But I just got here…" D:

Rich laughter. "She's so cute, running away like that. Haaa…so cute…"

"Bloody hell! When will you stop thinking with your dic—"

"Hey, Gilbert! Where are you going? Gilbert?"

xXx


	58. Shut Up: Prussia part 6

57. Shut Up (Prussia) [part 6]

xXx

You felt like a coward, running away from the silent dining hall, but you didn't care.

It wasn't that you were afraid of situations like that. More like, you didn't know how to handle tense atmospheres without yelling or breaking something. You_ hated_ any kind of problem that couldn't be solved with straight-up physical means. Conflicts that were about seeing who blinked first were out of your comfort zone. And as soon as you saw Ivan, you knew that everything about that boy revolved around being the true mastermind of it all.

_Ha, he's the brains and I'm just the foot soldier._

You slowed your jogging down to a fast walk as you entered the girl's dormitories. Classes would start in a half-an-hour, so maybe you had a little time to kill in your room.

xXx

As it turned out, going back to your room to get ready for classes wasn't necessary. Your roommate (an Asian girl with an alarming collection of sharp objects on her side of the wall) explained to you that it was a free day today and students could do whatever they liked. You could even wear your own clothes. (_Though_, the girl commented, _if Francis walked around naked again then uniforms would be enforced. _And from the way she played with her knife, you could tell that if Francis had any brains, he'd definitely follow the rules.)

You left the room without changing into anything else and decided to go sit under the shady tree outside.

Little did you know that as soon as you left the building, a certain little sneak started following you again.

xXx

The tree looked a lot cheerier in the morning sunlight. It was tall and thick, brimming with youth. Its branches extended out into the open air as if tickling the sky with beautiful, plump green leaves. You easily found the ridge that you had used last night to climb the tree trunk. But just as you heaved off of it to catch a branch above you, there was a sudden snap and your foothold broke off.

You barely had time to curse, tucking in yourself to keep from falling too hard. However, it wasn't the hard, unforgiving ground that you landed on, but a pair of arms that caught you.

Or tried to.

There was a loud _THUD_ as you and your 'rescuer' fell to the ground. The impact left you both breathless. Coughing, you sat up and looked back down to see that it was Gilbert under you.

"U-Uh—"

"C-Can you get off?" he gasped.

Quickly scrambling to get off, you gave him a sheepish look when he grimaced a little. "I'm sorry," you apologized. "Are you okay?" You caught yourself from sounding too concerned. "J-Jeez! What made you do that, you…idiot!"

Gilbert scoffed, looking away. "You're welcome."

You looked down. "Um, thank you," you mumbled. For once, you had nothing witty to say.

After a long pause of silence, he finally glanced at you. "Why are you wearing that crappy uniform? Don't you have anything else to wear?"

You started playing with the grass. "No… I wear pretty much the same things as the uniform here, so I didn't really bring any extra clothes."

Gilbert looked at you carefully, his eyes searching yours. He sighed, "They didn't even let you bring your fucking clothes, did they?"

Your mind flashed to your parents. "Hmm. It doesn't matter, anyways. I—whoa!"

Gilbert suddenly pulled you up. Holding your hand tightly, he started running towards the dormitory building. You stumbled to keep up with him.

"Where are we going?" you asked, now running alongside him. He didn't let go of your hand (not that you didn't mind…). He didn't say anything as the two of you ran throughout the halls, slowing down once you were near what you assumed to be his room.

_"How about it, babe? You up for a good time?"_

The concept was so similar to Gilbert's initial intentions that you were startled. But before you could snatch your hand back, he came to a stop in front of his door and let your hand drop.

"Just stay here," he said, unlocking his door and going in without giving you a second glance.

Not one to follow direct orders, you peeked into his room anyways. It was surprisingly clean; you had expected his room to look like a tornado had come crashing through. Gilbert was inside, digging through a royally fancy dresser, eyebrows drawn together in concentration. The room had three beds and a distinctive boundary drawn by an old sharpie that separated two beds from the other one. By the looks of it, you assumed that the room was shared by Gilbert and his two other perverted friends.

It looked like Gilbert was going to take a while, trying to find something in his drawers, so you went back outside and sat down, leaning against the wall.

A minute later, he came out with a pile of clothes in his arms. He tossed them into your lap.

"Here," he said. "Wear these."

You were caught by surprise. Why was he giving you clothes to wear? Closer examination of the pile revealed a shirt, a jacket, and a pair of jeans.

"Why are you doing this?" you asked. Did he pity you?

Gilbert's face flushed a little. "I-It sucks wearing that stupid uniform, and your parents are dicks for not letting you bring anything, either. So, go ahead! You can have those clothes; they're too small for me anyways."

You stared at the clothes quietly.

"Did your parents send you here, too?"

Instead of frowning like you had expected him to do, Gilbert sighed—a light, reminiscent smile on his face. He took a seat on the ground, too; leaning against the wall so close to you that you could feel his sleeve touching your arm.

"Kinda," he said. "They sent me here 'cause my brother started working at this place. They thought that they could get rid of me and have West keep me from getting arrested, all in one go. They gave me a week to get ready, but I just said fuck it and left the next day."

"At least you got a warning," you said quietly. "I get home and the first thing my parents do is shove a duffle in my face, telling me to pack my books and my gear—'I'm going to camp!'"

"That sucks."

"It does suck." You thought for a bit. "But I think I'd rather be here than back in my old school."

"Why?"

You glanced sideways at him.

"You know why."

"I... Yeah, I guess I do."

"So… what can you tell me about the other students here?"

Gilbert grinned. "Well, there's me with my level 3 awesomeness. Nuff said, _ja_?" You rolled your eyes, but couldn't help grinning. "Francis is creepy with his level 5 rapist powers, but he's cool to hang out with. Oh, and if Antonio ever asks you if you want to see his battle axe, say no and change the subject right away. He hides it under his bed," he added.

"What about Alfred? And that British guy, and Ivan?"

"Alfred's a level 2 'cause he used to sell all kinds of crap on the internet, and he loves irritating the hell of out his rich, snotty parents. The British guy is Arthur Eyebrows, and he may seem like a wimp, but he's actually pretty sadistic. And he's nuts. You should see him laughing and talking to his 'friends'. As for Ivan…" He shuddered. "That Russian is a crazy bastard. Seriously, don't end up in a room alone with him. He'll rape you, kill you, torture you, or draw pictures with fuckin' crayons with you."

You nodded, your thoughts confirmed. "Anyone else? Or do you only have five friends?"

"I have _tons_ of friends! There's Mattie! He's a level 5, but don't let that get you. He's super nice and lets me have his awesome turkey sandwiches!"

"Really? If he's so nice, why is he a 5?"

"Oh, he snapped one day at home and killed this guy that was bullying him. But that was just once and after some testing or some crap like that, they decided to just let him be a 5 instead of a 6."

"I see…" You looked to the wall, feeling a long awkward silence coming on. "I guess there's one thing I miss about my old school."

"What's that?" _An old boyfriend?_ Gilbert kept his mouth shut.

"The constant fighting. It doesn't look like I'll be able to do a lot of that here."

"You wanna fight?" Gilbert asked.

You gave him a look like _'duh'_.

"Jeez, don't have to make a face like that. It's a free day, so you can fight in the courtyard."

You abruptly sat up straight. "What? Why didn't you tell me that sooner?"

"You didn't ask," Gilbert said defensively. "Besides, you'd have to get someone to fight you."

You grinned. "What about you?"

He eyed you cautiously. "Tch. I may not be smarter than West, but I'm not stupid."

"Right. Because you're just 'awesome' like that?"

"Exactly."

"Then wait out here. I'm gonna change real quick and you can help me find a sparring partner." Gilbert watched as you stood up and welcomed yourself into his room, locking the door behind you.

He put his face in his hand, sighing.

_Why was he acting so out of character? He was being so unawesome, just talking and talking like that. What if [Name] got bored of him? What if she didn't like him? What if she has a boyfriend? What if she started dating Alfred? WHAT IF FRANCIS—_

Gilbert shook his head to clear his jumbled thoughts. He just wasn't good at 'sorting out his feelings.' (Ha! See, Ludwig? Counseling _doesn't_ work!)

As for [Name]…well, _he'd just have to wait and see._

xXx

When you came out, wearing his perfect-fit shirt and jeans, Gilbert had to concentrate _very_ hard not to say anything that would make him look like a dumbass (so hanging out with Francis _did_ have an effect on him…).

"Thanks for the clothes," you said, grinning. "These fit great!"

"You look…good."

You smirked. "That is the most elaborate compliment I've ever heard. Oh, stop it, you flatter me too much."

"S-Shut up! You may look sexy, but not as sexy as the awesome me." Gilbert froze, realizing what he just said. Without giving you any time to answer (you were so surprised, you didn't know what to say anyways), he brushed past you to lock his door and started walking away. "Come on! The courtyard is this way."

Fighting down your blush, you grinned and followed him. A flutter of happiness tickled your heart.

Life here may not be so bad.

xXx

"…one week, fifty bucks."

"A-Alfred, I don't think you should be gambling again, eh…"

"Don't be unhappy, Matvey! Three days, a favor. Ufu~"

"Not fair! A favor is worth way more than fifty bucks!"

"Do we have a bet?"

"…fine."

"Ha! Sadly, you boys do not understand the true nature of love. I say one day."

"Bloody… Not everyone is as horny as you, you nitwit. I call two weeks."

"Oh really? I find it ironic that _you_ are the one saying that, especially with what happened between you and Alfred—"

"Shut up!"

Alfred, who hadn't been listening anyways, turned on Arthur.

"Dudes! Shut up—or they'll hear us!"

"Damn it, why don't you _all_ shut up and leave us the hell alone?" you shouted angrily, turning away from your peaceful conversation with Gilbert to face your stalkers head-on. "If I hear any of you speak again I'm gonna—"

"Holy crap! Who touched my ass?"

Dead silence.

Alfred gave a nervous laugh. "Ahaha… It's all Francis' fault, [Name]!"

"What?"

"C'mere, Alfred. Hey, Gilbert! Looks like I got my sparring partner. Ivan, don't let him run away!"

"Okay~!"

"W-Wait! I'm sure we can work this out, now… [N-Name]? [Name]? [Name]!"

Watching from the sidelines, Gilbert and Antonio laughed their asses off, watching [Name] walking in for the kill and Ivan holding his arms out to block Alfred like he wanted a big hug. Francis, Arthur, and Matthew sat down on the benches next to them to watch the show. Even Ludwig, unnoticed by anyone else, settled against a shady wall to watch the infamous [Name] dish out her first fight.

You grinned excitedly, itching to feel your muscles moving like they should again. Alfred finally relented and huffed up his chest, trying to look intimidating. You nearly laughed out loud. The high of fighting was that delicious.

_Gear up, International Juvenile Correction Academy. There's a new threat in town—ah, school—and she's ready to tear shit up. _

xXx


	59. Savior: Canada

58. Savior (Canada)

xXx

They caught you in the pool bathroom just after PE.

"Little bitch," one hissed, grabbing your hair. "We saw you talking to Alfred in History. Don't you get it, you little slut? He doesn't want little girls like you."

You gasped in pain, but tried to dig your nails into her wrist, struggling to escape. The resistance only made her grip the roots of your hair tighter.

The other two cackled at you. One of them pulled out a sharpie from her pocket and uncapped it.

"Hold still," she sneered, grabbing your face to hold it steady. You struggled even more, but it was useless. The girl dug the end of the pen into your skin, writing out long, torturous black lines on your forehead.

_**Bitch**_, it read.

Just when you thought it was over…

"Hey, I heard you can't swim," the last one said snidely.

Your eyes widened in fear, and that was enough confirmation for all three of them.

"No!" you screamed. "Please! Help!"

The one holding your hair slapped you, hard. "Shut up! It'll be better if you just died. No one likes you anyways."

Tears sprung forth from your eyes as you flailed around more than ever, crying out for help. No one could hear you, though, since school was already over. The leader clenched your hair harder and you felt the sting of some strands ripping out. The sharpie-girl helped drag you up by the collar of your shirt, effectively choking you, and the other one held the door politely open. Outside, one could see the big, blue school swimming pool, the water innocently lapping against its tiled borders.

But to you, the pool wasn't a pool.

It was an ocean of water that you would drown in.

"HELP!" you screamed. "PLEASE!"

"Shut. Up!" the leader shrieked. Then she let go of your hair and kicked you into the pool.

It was a cruel action, because her foot connected straight with your diaphragm and all the air whooshed out of you. Your stomach dropped when you fell. You did your best to gasp in a last minute breath of air—

There was a hard slap when you hit the water. Squeezing your eyes shut, you tried to kick up to the surface, but all you were doing was flailing around in the water and your heavy clothes didn't help a bit. Your mind was desperate to cry out, but if you opened your mouth, it would be all over. Finally, when your lungs felt like they were about to burst, you gasped and instinctively sucked in, but all that filled your lungs was water. The horrible feeling of drowning made you cough, but the action only made you suck in more water. Water, water, water—it was everywhere. And you were drowning.

Your vision was blacking out. _Alfred, _was your last thought. A second later, and you were mercifully unconscious.

Until…

Suddenly, there was a stifled splash, and a pair of arms soon wrapped themselves around you. There was the numb feeling of muffled wind blowing past your hair and a bright light seared the insides of your eyelids.

And then the sweet feeling of open air hit your skin, and your eyes snapped open. Your throat constricted, pushing out all the water from your lungs, and you threw your arms around your savior, fingers clenching deep into their wet shirt.

"[Name]!" the voice shouted. "Are you okay?"

"A-Alfred?" you coughed. However, when you blinked the water out of your eyes, you saw that it wasn't the cheery American that had saved you, but someone else.

Matthew's face fell a little at the sound of his brother's name, but he gave you a relieved smile nonetheless. "Thank god you're alright..."

Terrified tears collected in your eyes. "M-Mattie," you cried, and then buried your face into his shoulder. He pushed his nose into your wet hair, and you felt him shaking.

"I-I thought you were…"

He stopped talking then. Using the hand holding onto the wall of the pool, he gently brought you to the edge. Letting go of his shirt (his heavy cotton sweatshirt, you noticed), you grabbed onto solid ground. With his help, you barely managed to climb out of the pool and fall onto the ground. You found yourself breathing as deeply as you could. Air had never been so precious.

Matthew joined you by your side soon enough, his golden-wheat hair plastered to the sides of his face. He still looked pretty, you thought, as he turned to see you gazing at him. Matthew's eyes narrowed at the sight of _**Bitch**_ scrawled on your forehead. Using his soft hands, he gently began to rub the graffiti off your skin. Something was off, you thought. But what was it?

"Y-Your glasses!" you gasped. You would have looked down into the pool to look for them, but the fear of water suddenly flashed through your mind. Matthew saw you flinch and fold in on yourself, and it struck a chord in his heart. Without thinking, he moved closer and wrapped his arms around you, hold secure.

"It's okay," he breathed, hugging you tight as if to protect you from your fears. "It's okay now… I'm so sorry, [Name]… I'm so sorry…"

_Why is he apologizing?_ But all you could do was calm your fast-beating heart and try to breathe normally. For some reason, they refused to slow down.

"Who the fuck is this guy?" a voice suddenly demanded.

Both of you looked up to see the leader bitch herself, eyes narrowed in disgust.

"You think you're some kind of hero, huh?" her minion barked. "Go to hell." The girls moved in for the kill.

Matthew's grip on your tightened immensely. His quiet violet eyes suddenly darkened.

"Get the hell away from us," he growled maliciously, his shoulders raising in defense.

The girls' eyes widened in shock and fear. Matthew repeated himself, this time shouting so loudly that the three girls and you flinched. The girls turned on their heels and ran away.

"Are you okay?" Matthew asked, lowering his voice.

Your heart still beat furiously against your chest, but you suspected that it wasn't because of the near-drowning experience. You felt so _safe_ in his arms.

"I'm fine," you whispered.

xXx

As Matthew started to rub [Name]'s forehead clean of the girls' sharpie, a silhouette was watching them from the shadows, his whole body burning with jealousy. He had just been about to leap into the pool himself and rescue her, but he froze when his brother had come running into the pool, shouting [Name]'s name. When they both surfaced and climbed out of the water, he was too busy staring at the way she looked at Mattie to even stop the bitches that had tried to drown her.

He saw his brother whisper something to [Name], to which she responded by smiling and whispering back to him. It was a beautiful, gorgeous smile meant just for him. Just for Matthew—her_ hero_.

Alfred's blood pounded in his ears, but all he could do was grind his teeth together and force himself to walk away.

xXx


	60. Gift: Liechtenstein

59. Gift (Liechtenstein)

xXx

America was strolling through the meeting room to find a seat when something in the air caught his attention. Pausing in his steps, he sniffed a bit, trying to pin-point the origin of the out-of-place scent. It smelled like freshly baked cookies and apple pie… Oh god, it smelled _so_ good…

"America-san," came a quiet voice. Japan was already sitting down in his usual seat, folder and writing utensils out, staring up at the stand-still American. "May I ask what you are doing?"

"Oh!" America said in surprise. "Hey, Japan. Do you smell something?"

The young Asian glanced around, inhaling the air.

"I do," he said. He closed his eyes, a faint smile on his face. "It smells like baked bread… Ah, doesn't this mean that [Name]-san is baking again?"

"Huh? I thought she only baked when it was someone's birthday."

Japan tilted his head thoughtfully. "Maybe it is a coincidence."

At that moment, the young nation in question walked past the two conversing countries, smile bright as she bid them both a good morning. In one hand was a laptop carry-on and in the other, a large woven basket. As she passed by, there was a distinct bakery scent to her.

America and Japan watched [Name] skip off to say hello to the other countries.

"…okay, whose birthday is it?"

xXx

"Pssst! Iggy!"

An emerald glare was thrown his way.

"What?" England hissed, not taking his eyes off China (who was giving a presentation up front).

"Do you know whose birthday it is today?" America whispered.

England's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "No, I don't."

America groaned. "Aww…"

"Why?" the Englishman asked, curious.

"Didn't you see [Name]'s cake basket? It's huge!"

England would have told him to check his contacts list for birthdays, but he noticed China sending them glares even as he was speaking and pointing at the big white board (illegible Chinese scribbling making it hard to understand). Ever the gentleman, he shushed America. Responding to the young man's childish face with a stern look, he turned around and went back to taking notes.

Though, as China finished his presentation and walked back to his seat, England couldn't help but lean up and ask the twiddling Ukrainian next to him: "Pardon me, but you wouldn't know whose birthday it is today, would you?"

xXx

"Stupid America," huffed China as he plopped down into his chair. Other members of the large meeting table were conversing with their neighbors in the little time they had before Germany gathered up his papers and took the front again.

"Nii-san?" Japan said, leaning back in his chair to speak to his elder brother behind Taiwan's back.

"Yes?" China leaned back in his seat. Taiwan leaned forward so the brothers could talk.

"It looks like [Name]-san has brought another birthday cake. Do you know who it belongs to?"

China's sour mood with the American disappeared. "No, but I bet I can find out," he said, vaguely interested. Japan nearly laughed. China was always ready for good gossip; he already had his phone out and was screening through his contacts list.

In the meantime, Japan decided to ask his other neighbor—Lithuania—the same question.

xXx

In no time at all, the meeting hall was buzzing with excitement. Everyone knew that [Name] brought a cake with her, but no one knew whose birthday it was. Of course, it wasn't that easy to talk with one another with Germany up at the front, demanding for everyone's attention. Once or twice, he caught Italy whispering with Spain and blew up about it. No one attempted conversation after the third time.

Finally, when one could stand the mystery no longer, Germany drew himself up in his suit and announced to the attentive room, "Alright, we've covered all the subjects for today's meeting. Thank you for your attention. But before everyone can be dismissed, [Name] has an announcement to make. [Name]?"

Said country hopped up from her chair and happily skipped over to the front of the room, the giant basket swinging carefully in her hand. All eyes were on her as she placed the basket on the table.

"As many of you have already guessed," she said, eyeing America knowingly, "today is someone's special day!" [Name] opened the basket and pulled out a gorgeous chocolate-covered cake with white and blue decorations on top. Picking up the cake, she began to carry it over to the birthday person.

America strained to see what was written on top. He blinked in surprise as he tried to read the loopy decorated cursive.

"Like-ten-steen?" he said uncertainly. "Lee-ech-tin-shtein? Lych-ton-stay-in?"

Ignoring the American's dreadful pronunciation, [Name] placed the cake in front of a certain little blonde girl with adorably surprised eyes and a purple ribbon in her hair.

"Happy Birthday, Liechtenstein!" she cheered.

"Th-Thank you!" the birthday girl said happily. She gasped in amazement as she gazed at the intricate pattern of a golden crown by her name. Switzerland eyed the chocolate cake suspiciously, but made no move to test it for poison (to avoid insulting [Name]'s baking pride and engendering a long, angry speech).

People who knew Switzerland's little sister clapped in polite appreciation. Others…

"Who?" America asked bluntly. (England gave him a good smack to the head.)

As if on reflex, the blonde napping near him muttered, "Canada…"

Ignoring America (again), [Name] took out a single red and white candle, placed it in the center, and lit it up with a match. The flame burned brightly and the distinct scent of a burning candlewick filled the room.

"Happy Birthday," (most of) the meeting table chorused together (many in their own native tongue).

"Make a wish," [Name] encouraged.

Liechtenstein closed her eyes, made a silent wish, and blew out the candle.

This time, everyone clapped.

xXx

"Hey, [Name]!" a voice called.

You turned your head and saw America walked towards you, hand up to stop the elevator door from closing on him. Once inside, you said, "Hello, America. Are you catching a taxi to the airport?"

"No, I rented a car. Can I ask you something?" he said out of the blue.

"Go ahead."

"Why do you always bring a cake when it's someone's birthday?"

You smiled pleasantly.

"Because it's their birthday, and it's nice to receive gifts on your birthday. Baking a cake and having everyone recognize them is a special gift from my home to theirs."

America tilted his head in consideration. "That's really cool of you. It's kind of creepy though… Do you have a list of _everyone's_ birthdays?"

"Maaaybe." She scoffed. "It's not like I have a file on every single one of you and your personal information."

America laughed loudly. "That would be really creepy!"

You laughed nervously.

"Right. Very creepy."

xXx


	61. Music: Sealand

60. Music (Sealand)

xXx

Sitting in the hot meeting room, you weren't exactly in the most patient of moods. The air condition was broken, you had just gotten off the phone with an angry boss, Greece and Turkey were fuming at each other again in the next seat over, you just discovered that your internet was as slow as hell, and there was this _constant_ shrilly voice in your ear—

"…and that stupid England said I couldn't do it! Ha! Take that, you fat cow! Who's a real nation now?"

At last, your nerves finally snapped.

"God damn it, SEALAND PLEASE JUST SHUT UP!" you exploded, attracting every eye in the room. Sealand in particular stopped pestering England to stare at you—one of the gentlest countries in the world. Your neighbors were suddenly afraid.

"I am _sick and tired_ of you coming to these meetings," you snapped at Sealand. "You are _not_ a country! You're just a fucking sea fort off the coast of England! You have a population of _three_, your currency is a _rip off_ of the _American dollar_, and you're not even _half a century_ old! Oligarchy? Constitutional monarchy? BULLSHIT! Get it through your thick head, you ridiculous block of useless scrap metal—you are not a country and you will never, _EVER_ be a country!"

And then you gathered up all of your folders, placed them neatly in your bag, and left the meeting room. Behind you trailed the sound of Sealand crying.

It was like music to your ears.

xXx


	62. Nature: Sweden

61. Nature (Sweden)

xXx

[Full Name] was tall, sporty, and friendly.

Berwald Oxenstierna was tall, quiet, and _unfriendly_.

They never met in the halls, they never conversed, and they certainly weren't friends. Sure, they may have had a few classes together over the years, and sure, their friends may have been friends with each other—but the truth remains the same. It wasn't in either's interest that they meet face to face.

Oh, but fate had its own way of bringing things about.

xXx

"Fucking Braginski," your teammate muttered as you sat down, lunch in one hand and an ice-pack in the other. "That wasn't a foul—that was a fucking _murder_—"

"Oh, shove it," you said rather pleasantly. "Just because we lost the practice match doesn't mean you get to sit around complaining. Besides, at the championship next week, Ivan's going to be on _our_ side of the court, remember?" You paused in your eating. "Though, he is pretty good at making it look like an accident…"

Alfred suddenly tensed up and you froze as a heavy hand dropped on your shoulder.

"Great game today, [Name]," said Ivan cheerily. "How is your arm? I really am sorry for bumping into you—"

"It's fine," you assured.

"—but you _were_ in my way." The Russian gave a wide, intimidating smile. "Next time, you will watch where you're going, da?"

Cautiously nodding to your teammate, you shifted the baggie of ice so that it rested on your elbow. Ivan's eyes flashed to your arm. He gave you a satisfied smile and said goodbye, leaving to sit at his own table.

Once he was gone, your best friend let out a loud rush of pent up anger.

"…creepy-ass, Soviet bastard," he continued to mutter under his breath.

You gave him a sharp rap on the forehead.

"Alfred F. Jones, if you don't stop criticizing your teammate right now…"

Alfred rubbed his forehead. "Yes, _mother_."

xXx

"…_what?_" you gaped at your math teacher. "Honda-sensei, you just—you can't do this!"

The young Japanese man gazed at you with apologizing eyes. "I'm truly sorry, [Name]-san, but your grades are too low to continue participating in athletic activities."

_No, no, no,_ you thought. Then something occurred to you. With narrowed eyes, you accused, "Mr. Zwingli put you up to this, didn't he? He's had it in for me from the start, you know?"

"No he did _not _ask me to do this," said Honda as though insulted (though his eyes did flicker to the classroom door).

Student and teacher waited in awkward silence as you tried to control your growing panic. You just _couldn't_ miss playing in the championship! This was outrageous!

"Isn't there anything I can do, Sensei?" you begged. "Can't I retake a test or something? Please, I can't _not_ play this weekend… The team needs me! We have to defend our League title!"

"I-I—" he stuttered with another glance to the door. He sighed, gesturing for you to lean in closer, which you did. "There is one possibility… But it will be hard for you if you are struggling in my class."

"What is it?" you whispered eagerly. "I'll do it."

"In order to bring your grade up, you will have to pass the finals this week with at least 95%."

Suppressing an involuntary shudder, you forced a determined look upon your face.

"Then I'll get a perfect score!"

xXx

"Let's face it, Al," you groaned. "I've been here for at least four hours. I'm a mathematical _dunce!_ I'm gonna fail and miss the game!"

The voice on the other end of your phone was panicked as well. "I-Is this a bad time to tell you about English?"

Your scribbling pencil froze.

"What about English?" you demanded. On the other side, Alfred knew your eyes were narrowed.

"Well, you know how Kirkland's an ass?" he laughed nervously.

"So?"

"So, I went to his class today…"

"Like you do _every day?_"

"Right. And, um, I kinda sorta failed my last test. And the test before that, and the one before that, too…"

You groaned again, louder this time. "Don't tell me you're failing too," you growled.

"I'm not! Yet," he added. "But I've got it under control! Mr. Whateverhisnameis heard about it and took pity on me, so now all I gotta do is go to some extra classes and pass my finals with a C, and I'm all good!"

"A _C?_" you nearly shrieked. "A couple classes and a fucking _C?_ Oh, you lucky son of a bitch—"

"Language, [Last Name]!" admonished some random teacher walking by.

"Sorry, mister," you apologized. You stayed silent until he went away. Laughter rang in your ear. "Shut up, Alfred. I'm not in the mood."

"Laughter is the best medicine," he advised wisely. "If you're feeling that stressed, why don't you just go hire a tutor?"

You rolled your eyes. "Math finals are in a few days. All the good tutors are taken."

"Then good luck with studying! I gotta go now. Mr. Canadian dude is waiting for me to put my phone away." And then he hung up, leaving you truly alone.

Heaving a sigh, you gathered all the textbooks you needed to borrow and lugged them towards the front desk. Mr. Toris (whose last name no one could pronounce) was talking to someone you vaguely recognized. It was the tall, quiet blonde guy with glasses that sat at the back of History and Health. Berwald, was it?

"Good afternoon, [Name]," said Mr. Toris warmly. "I hardly ever see you in here. Are you studying for your finals?"

You shrugged, handing him your books. "More like slaving over my textbooks. If I don't get a 95% or higher on my Math test, I can't play this week's championship!"

The librarian looked up in surprise. "The basketball team? No way!" Despite your grim mood, you nearly laughed. Very few people knew of Mr. Toris's love for basketball.

You leaned against the counter, very aware that Berwald was looming over, ominously glaring down on you. Unconsciously, you shifted away slightly. "Alfred said I should get a math tutor, but I don't have time to look for one."

Mr. Toris looked up at Berwald. "That's funny because we were just talking about tutoring, weren't we? Hey, why don't you help [Name] out, Berwald?" Contrary to his friendly attitude, the librarian seemed to give the Swede a warning glare.

"Mm," was all he replied.

Mr. Toris seemed to understand this as a yes, for he nodded pleasantly.

"Wonderful," he said. "I expect you two to be studying here in the library tomorrow morning, right at 7:15. Do your best on the team, [Name]!"

You left the front desk, feeling a little perturbed, but much less stressed now. Guess you had to thank Mr. Toris's love for the court and its game.

But was this the right idea, when you hardly knew Berwald—let alone understood him?

xXx

The first tutoring session started terribly awkward. Being at least a half-hour early, you decided to listen to music while you briefly skimmed through the math books you borrowed. Ten minutes earlier than you expected, a hand tapped your shoulder. Berwald's intimidating stature filled your sight, momentarily stunning you. Without another word, the Swede took his seat next to you.

"Good morning, Berwald," you said. "Thanks for helping me."

"N' pr'blm," he grunted.

It was very hard not to squirm under the intense gaze of Berwald, but you did well under his attention. It took at least twenty minutes or so to get used to his accent, and at least twenty more to finally focus on the task at hand. The way he taught you was a bit tedious, having to solve practice problems over and over again until you got them right, but paid off in the end as you began to recognize various math equations and their solutions.

Out of sight, Mr. Toris smiled knowingly at the two figures sitting so close together at the table, hunched over a calculator.

"The bell is going to ring soon, you two," he said, approaching your table.

You jumped in surprise, away from your tutor, and looked at the clock for the first time. You had been sitting there for nearly two hours! Time had gone by so fast…

As the librarian walked away, the young man next to you began gathering the scattered papers and books. You rushed to help him, shuffling loose-leaf notes in order. The amount of work you had gotten done was nothing short of amazing. The way the Swede has explained things to you (grunts count as words, yes) deserved a medal of honor. To think, you—the mathematical dunce—would be walking out of the library feeling confident about a final exam! You wondered if you needed to offer a sacrifice or something to the mathematical gods…

"T'morrow?" said a voice, interrupting your thoughts.

Caught off guard, your heart skipped a beat. "S-Sorry? Oh! Yeah, that would be awesome."

"Mm'kay."

xXx

The next day, Berwald showed up as early as you, something that made you immensely happy. There were still quite a few lessons to cover before the final, and as soon as you had arrived home, all your self-confidence had been swept away by an invisible wave of panic. Coach Ludwig had found out about your possible absence in the championship, and promptly gave you a very intimidating, very _loud_ telling-to at practice. Everyone was dismayed; even Ivan stopped smiling for a fleeting moment. The mood sank even lower once it was announced that Alfred was missing, too (this, the Russian didn't seem to care too much about).

"_Verdammit!_" Coach growled. "I swear, [Name], if you and Jones don't play in the game this Saturday, I'm going to make you two run suicides on the court until you _cry!_"

Needless to say, by the time you had gotten home and flopped down on your bed, you were feeling pretty depressed.

A subtle shuffle of papers induced a pause in your scribbling, your eyes flickering to the tall Swede next to you, reading his book while he waited for you to finish a mock-test. The bespectacled young man looked almost…content. It was a very different expression from his usual leer.

Berwald's eyes noticed you staring and you immediately looked away, sinking a little lower into your seat. After working out a few more problems, you glanced at him again, this time catching his eyes on you. Like cowards, you both directed your gazes somewhere else. There was no more glancing for the rest of the hour.

"Thank you so much, Berwald," you said as you tucked away all your notes, uncharacteristically shy. "You really helped me a lot. Tomorrow's the final, so we don't have to meet here anymore."

For a moment, your taciturn tutor didn't say anything. But as you zipped up your bag, he turned to you and grumbled, "Wh't're you d'ng 'fter sch'l?"

You blinked. "I—am going to basketball practice. Why?"

"M'et me by th' sch'l 'ntr'nce aft'r."

You paused a moment to translate ("_Meet me by the school entrance after."_), and then felt your heart skip a beat. "Are you sure? I end at 7:00 today. It's gonna be dark by the time I finish."

"I c'n w'it."

The bell rang. You slung your bag over your shoulder and said, "Sure! I'll meet you there."

xXx

"I heard you're dating that Swedish dude," snickered a familiar voice as its owner slipped in next to you. "Care to tell your best friend all about it?"

You smacked Alfred on the forehead, inducing a yelp. "Alfred F. Jones, if you're going to believe everything people tell you, you're going to end up taking candy from strangers and when that pedo rapes you, I'm _not_ coming to save you."

Alfred raised his hands in surrender. "What's got your pa—"

"No. Don't even say it." You stabbed a lettuce leaf with your fork. "I'm not dating anyone. Some idiot must've seen us studying in the library."

Alfred cocked an eyebrow, smirking. "Someone sounds disappointed."

You narrowed your eyes. "I do _not_ sound disappointed—"

"Hey, wait!" he suddenly realized. "_Bernard's_ your math tutor?"

"Berwald," you corrected. "And yeah, is there something wrong with that?"

Your best friend's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "But…isn't he, like, hard to understand? I mean, like, does he even speak English?"

"…you aren't hanging out with Feliks behind my back, are you?" you joked. "It took a while, but I think I can understand him pretty well."

"But…I mean, isn't he kinda…"

"Intimidating?" you offered. "Unapproachable? Unfriendly?"

"Yes!"

You tilted your head in thought. "He was pretty scary at first, but he's pretty cool. I like him."

Alfred's face cracked into a grin. You realized what you said and tried to backtrack.

"No! I don't mean it _that_ way—I just—he's cool, and I like him—stop laughing!—as a _friend_."

While you tried to land a satisfying slap on the giggling American, you didn't notice the shadow looming above you—aura intimidating. When you finally did notice, you looked up, expecting to see Berwald there with his lunch. But it wasn't Berwald…

"Ah, there you are, [Name]!" Ivan said lightly. Before you could stop him, the Russian plopped down on the bench next to you. "I hear you are dating the Swedish boy in your Health and History class." (_How did he know that?_) "Is this true?"

You opened your mouth to deny this, but you were interrupted by a suddenly sober American.

"Yeah, she's taken already, Braginski," he said loudly. "So you can take your creepy stalker-ass back to the Soviets and—_FUCK, OW!_"

Textbook in hand, you stood tall—menacing—above the blue-eyed-blonde, glaring. Most of the cafeteria had gone silent at the sound of uncensored cursing.

"I am _not_ dating _anyone_," you growled.

Alfred looked taken aback—but shrugged in defeat, and then turned on everyone else. "Mind your own business!" he snapped.

It was hard not to obey the third best player on the basketball team, so all those who had gone silent began murmuring amongst themselves (just soft enough so that they could still keep their ears open for good gossip). You sat down calmly and put the textbook aside.

"But you have met with the boy," (this last word, he emphasized), "multiple times, yes?" Ivan's unnerving smile remained. "This is not something I recommend, [Name]."

There was something in his voice that made you a little rebellious and defensive.

"And why shouldn't I hang out with Berwald?" you demanded.

Ivan's eyes flashed. "He is a loner. He frightens people. He is antisocial. He spends his days in the library, reading countless science fiction novels and never seeing daylight. His words are hardly words at all; instead, they are incomprehensible grunts and nods.

"You, on the other hand, are loud and outgoing. You are friendly. You spend your free time outside and under the sun or inside and on the court. You hardly study, receive a C-average in every subject, and contribute more energy to your extracurricular activities rather than your core subjects. You—"

"—are being stalked by this fucked up bastard," Alfred interrupted on your behalf. This time, you didn't try to stop him. "Just shut up and get to the fucking point. What the hell's your problem with my best friend, freak?"

In a voice too cheery for its own good, Ivan chirped, "As the Americans say, _'stick to the status quo'. _He is a loner, and you are a jock. Your whole relationship with him is an act against nature! It is not in the school's best interest that the two of you converge."

"Ew!" Alfred blanched. You elbowed him—hard.

"I think you should leave now," you said quietly. "You can dress your words up however you want; I don't care. You're not gonna make me hate someone because of some stereotype crap. Save your speech on 'school nature' for someone who actually cares."

Across from you, Alfred burst into applause, turning heads to your table again. Ivan was clearly displeased with this development, but picked up his lunch and left your table nonetheless. Somewhere inside of you, you breathed a sigh of relief.

And then Alfred had to ruin it all by saying:

"Aha! So you _do_ like him!"

_SMACK!_

xXx

Berwald was reading another book when you approached him, freshly showered and energized from the light and easy practice (Coach didn't want to strain everyone before the big game). On closer inspection, his hair was slightly damp, and so you assumed that he had gone home and showered, too.

Making your shoes scrape against the ground so that he would notice, Berwald looked up to see you approaching.

"Good evening," you greeted, shyly stopping in front of him.

He nodded, and then searched his bag for a thin packet of papers. "H're," he said, offering the stapled stack to you. As you took it and began flipping through it, you saw what it was that he wanted to give you: a math goldmine. He had given you a complete packet of math notes that you needed for the finals!

Speechless, you struggled for words to say. "I—uh—thanks." Mental face palm.

"'s no pr'blm," he shrugged.

You took a deep breath. "No, really. Thank you so much for being so patient with me and helping me out with math. Hopefully I'll be able to remember everything until tomorrow." You grinned. "My coach says that if I don't play in the game on Saturday, he's gonna make me run till I cry."

The Swede looked at you in alarm, to which you had to laugh at.

"Don't worry!" you assured. "I'll definitely get a high score tomorrow!"

"[N'me]," he said.

Your breath caught. He was standing right above you, eyes unreadable.

For an eternity, the two of you stood in silence as you waited for Berwald to say something.

"G'd l'ck, t'mmr'w," he finally murmured. "Yu'll d' f'ne."

Funny, it seemed like your brain stopped working for a few seconds.

"Th-Th-Th—" (You bit your tongue.) "Thank you!" Forcing your mind to think straight, you asked him something that you had been thinking about since school ended. "Hey, if I get to play on Saturday, do you wanna…come watch m—uh, the game? We get two free tickets for the championship for our friends, so… I dunno. You could ask a friend to come with you or something. But you don't have to go if you can't or if you don't want to…"

"S're, I'll g'," he said. (It was wishful thinking on your behalf that his answer was honest and immediate.)

"Awesome! Let's hope I don't fail," you laughed (a little nervously). You glanced around, pretending to just notice how dark it was. "Oh, I gotta go now." You started jogging away. "Thanks for everything! I'll tell you how I did later!"

You were running towards the bus stop, out of earshot, when Berwald muttered, "G'bye…"

xXx

"Is everyone ready for the final exam?" Honda-sensei called attention over the class. You were sitting up in your seat, looking confident. He beamed at you.

"Then, _minasan_, pick up your pencils…and you can begin!"

xXx

"How'd you do?" Alfred demanded as soon as you sat down.

You gave him a hesitant smile. "Hopefully I did okay. What about you?"

"I'm in the game!" He gave you a reassuring look. "Don't worry. If all else fails, we can ask Eddy to hack the system long enough for you to play!"

"Haa…right."

xXx

In History, Berwald caught your eye.

You gave him a hopeful smile.

xXx

The next day, you walked into math class, eyes hesitantly searching for the familiar sight of the small Japanese teacher. You found him sitting at his desk up in the front, shuffling a thick stack of papers and reorganizing his various little knick-knacks. That alone should've been enough to discern that he was nervous about something. But he was wearing his glasses today, so that meant that he felt confident today. Ah! Look! He just twirled his pen in his hand! But the reassuring motion was contradicted by a sigh, an action he rarely exercised.

Throughout the whole journey to your desk, you watched your math teacher from the corner of your eye, trying to discern his mood from his actions. Honda-sensei caught you watching him and emotionlessly gestured for you to sit down. You grudgingly complied, unsure of what mood he was in.

The moment of truth arrived. Sensei's face was perfectly unreadable as he placed your final exam on your desk, face-down.

Slowly, you turned it over...

…and your heart sank.

_93%_

You stared at the red score scribbled on the front, looked up with rebellious, hating eyes, and then plunged deep into the pages of your test to see what the hell you had gotten wrong! It was then that you noticed a bright red arrow point towards the next page, which you read at the top:

_+9 points extra-credit_

You glanced up at Honda-sensei, who was conveniently helping someone with their test.

You turned the page to find:

An equal sign, which ultimately lead to:

_96%_

Unable to contain a squeal of utter glee, you leaped up from your desk, screaming, "HONDA-SENSEI, YOU'RE A FREAKING _JERK!_"

But you hugged him anyways.

Much to his dismay.

xXx

As soon as you entered history, you locked your eyes on the Swedish boy in the back and advanced on him, engulfing him in a tight hug before he could so much as look at you. Squeezing him close, you said excitedly, "I can play! I can play! And it's all thanks to you! You'll come to my game now, right?"

(Admittedly, you held onto him longer than necessary.)

And then, to your utter pleasure, he raised his arm to pat on you on the back.

"'f cours'."

xXx

Sweat sticking to your back, the rhythm of the court rolling off your fingertips, the exhilaration of weaving in and between your dodgy opponents, anticipating their every move—

"Number 78 is moving in for the shot—she shoots—and it's up and flying—and SCORE! THERE GOES THE BUZZER, EVERYONE! HETALIA HIGH SCHOOL HAS WON THE CHAMPIONSHIP FOR THE THIRD TIME IN A ROW! Congratulations, Hetalia High School!"

xXx

Alfred cheered and toasted. Ivan's smiles were mischievous smirks. Coach Ludwig was downing down a mug of beer with his brother. One of your teammates was blasting celebratory music while someone else was beating on the potluck's pots and pans for makeshift drums. Everyone slapped you on the back, saying, "What a great shot!" The feast was loud. Everyone's voices were loud.

Looking around, you spotted a certain Swede leaning against a wall, book in his hand. Berwald glanced up and met your eyes.

Quiet, naturally reserved Berwald.

Loud, energetic [Name].

He smiled at you, and it was as if you had won the game all over again.

xXx


	63. Pity: Artistic Russia part 1

62. Pity (Russia) [part 1]

xXx

"Gilbert, stop pulling Feliks' hair! Antonio, hands to yourself! Francis—you, too! Arthur, stop reading that—Yao, no iPods in class—please, just everyone—Feli, leave [Name] alone—ALFRED JONES, _SIT DOWN!_" Mr. Laurinaitis finally roared.

_That_ caught everyone's attention. The kindly, warm-eyed Lithuanian used The Voice—which meant that something stressful had happened at home and he was ready to snap out detentions to anyone that dared to toe the line-of-no-return. Everyone promptly took their assigned seats. Even loud, obnoxious Alfred slumped in his chair obediently.

"Finally!" Mr. Laurinaitis huffed. "Let's just finish today's agenda, okay? Pay attention, everyone. I'll be explaining your new project—"

Groans, and many students automatically tuned out.

"—that's worth half your final semester grade."

Dozens of protesting voices filled the air. Mister silenced them all with an uncharacteristically hostile glare.

"I'm serious this time," he said firmly. "I'm tired of everyone not taking my class seriously and acting like immature little kids all the time. This project is to be taken with the utmost sincerity, or else you will fail, along with your partner. There are no retakes, no extra credit—nothing will save you if you fail. Is everyone clear on that?"

Someone behind you snorted. "Just shut up and tell us already," retorted Alfred. You wanted to clap your hands over his mouth—the idiot! Why couldn't he just keep quiet for once?

Mr. Laurinaitis' eyes flashed. "Detention, Jones." There was a cry of protest. "Make that _two_. Next time, it's a week."

Alfred glared, sinking back into his seat.

"Since our theme this semester is 'relationships,' I've decided to have a mock-marriage project for this class. Everyone in here will pair up with someone in this class and introduce yourselves to each other—I have worksheets for you to fill out—and then come to me by the end of class for 'marriage counseling'." There was a murmur of excitement. "I'll be your counselor and interview the both of you, and then I'll present you with a 'problem' the two of you have to fix over the course of the next week. You will give a final report on how you solved your problems _in detail_ to me in another 'marriage counseling' session."

At this point, no one was paying attention to the poor Health teacher. Eyes were looking around for possible marriage partners and murmurs were going around. This was when some brilliant mind called out, interrupting Mr. Laurinaitis, "Hey! There's more guys than girls in this class!"

Fortunately, the Lithuanian was still humming with anger, and so his voice was strong and undeniable when he said, "Yes, there is that factor as well. Some boys will be paired with other boys. _No!_ Don't even say it—Alfred _sit down_—your partners will be luck-of-the-draw anyways."

"WHAT?" Alfred raged. "_You're_ going to pick our partners?"

"Yes," the teacher said with hard eyes. "Anyone who exhibits explicit distaste for their husband or wife, or harasses another for being married to someone undesirable will get an automatic F for their grade. I will not accept any sexual harassment during this project. Don't like it? You're welcome to walk out now and take your F."

Silence.

"Fine. Then, please write your name on a scrap of paper, crumple it up, and throw it in here. Boys in the blue, and girls in the pink."

There was the shuffle of people moving around to take out a piece of paper. You tore off a little piece from your notes and wrote your name on it, all the while glancing around the classroom for people you _didn't _want to get paired up with. There was obnoxious Alfred and his constant immatureness. Off on the other side of class was temperamental Romano and his happy-go-lucky brother sitting next to their gruff German friend.

As the girls' tin can came and went, you pursed your lips in thought. Even if it wasn't real, the thought of marriage made you squirm a little. Who would you end up with? Would he be nice? Would he be someone annoying? You wanted someone on the quiet side, who was nice and good-looking, but not egotistical. Without knowing, you realized that your eyes were straying towards Kiku, who was sitting by the door.

The blue and pink cans were brought to the front, and you crossed your fingers (along with half of the rest of the class), praying for a good partner.

Up at the front, Toris sighed. _Here we go._

xXx

"…Gilbert, you're with Elizabeta."

A few people chuckled. Those who could count knew that there was only one more name in the pink tin can, and that it was yours. Kiku was already paired up with someone else. The only boys left were either insufferable (Alfred), creepy (Berwald), or people you didn't even know.

"And last, but not least, [Name]…you are with…Ivan."

You gulped. Your friends gave you sympathetic looks. Slowly, you turned around in your seat to locate your partner. You found him, sitting in the farthest seat to the back, quiet eyes on you; his expression was so stoic that you shivered a little.

Of all people, it _had_ to be the creepiest one yet. Ivan Braginski was never one to talk in class or volunteer for anything. He always wore clothes too big for him (as if he wasn't large enough already), and only took off his woolen scarf if it was exactly a hundred degrees.

No one really knew him all that much, just that he and his sisters came from Russia and that he never pays attention in class. His height and his flat expression makes everyone nervous, like he's some kinda wall. Right. A huge, brick wall whose thoughts you could never discern.

This was when Mr. Laurinaitis (who pitied you a little) picked out the first homosexual pairing and announced it to the class…

"Alfred, you're with Arthur."

Alfred leapt up in rage, and the whole class exploded in laughter. You couldn't help but giggle as well, preferring to avoid thinking about the future of your Health grade with the tallest, most intimidating boy in the class.

xXx

"So," you said unsurely, keeping your eyes on the profile worksheet in front of you. "Um…your name?"

At the moment, Ivan's attention was down on earth and not in space, so he replied, "Ivan Braginski."

"Oookay. Birthday?"

"December 30."

"…favorite food?"

He tilted his head. "I like warm soups."

"Um, favorite color?"

At this, he shook his head. "I like all of them." Ivan smiled, and you realized that he looked surprisingly…cute. "What about you?"

An hour of asking continuous questions ticked by slowly. You tried to be as friendly as you could, smiling and encouraging Ivan to talk more. But by the end of the worksheet, the two of you were about as close as the ground and the sky. There was just nothing in common the two of you could talk about. The fact that Alfred kept throwing his voice all over the room wasn't much help either. Pretty soon, one couple stood up to go for their first 'marriage counseling'. As if someone had flicked on a switch, everyone else seemed to get up and walk towards Mr. Laurinaitis' office.

"Why don't we wait," you suggested, watching as the line grew. Ivan nodded, and then played with his iPod. For the first time, you realized that he was wearing massive headphones on his ears. Sure, you probably knew that in the back of your mind—but for some reason, you hadn't truly realized that he was plugged in until now.

"What kind of music do you listen to?" you asked out of curiosity.

He looked surprised at the question. "Quiet music."

Quiet music? Not heavy death metal? Not rap or pop? And he wasn't afraid of listening to music in the middle of class—but he didn't seem like one to break the rules. He hadn't been completely unpleasant either…

Maybe Ivan wasn't what everyone made him out to be?

xXx

Mr. Laurinaitis glanced between you and Ivan—warm, brown eyes thoughtful. He finally placed his pen down and said, "You two seem to be doing alright, but I have a feeling that there's hardly any communication between the two of you. I'd recommend spending more time together and learning more about each other, rather than just leaving each other alone."

As the two of you exited his private office, you exchanged glances with each other. Just hang out with each other? That's all you had to do to get an A? That was a little easier than you had expected.

"[Name]!" Elizabeta said, pulling you away from Ivan. She leaned in close for a whisper. "Will you be okay with _him_? He's nice to you, right?"

You were startled. Ivan didn't even blink, walking back to his desk and pulling a little piece of paper out of his pocket and doodling on it.

"He's alright," you told her honestly. "I think I'll be okay."

Elizabeta must've thought you were trying to act happy for her sake, because she said, "If you have any problems, just come straight to me, 'kay?"

"I will," you said, smiling and noticing the obvious pity in everyone's eyes (except Alfred, who was still ranting about getting stuck with such a nerdy, bitchy partner).

xXx

At the end of class, the bell rang.

"Remember," Mr. Laurinaitis said, "your final reports are due exactly one week from now! Do your best, everyone!"

You snuck Ivan a confident smile, to which he smiled back at.

"And now, I pronounce you all husbands and wives!"

xXx


	64. Laugh: Artistic Russia part 2

63. Laugh (Russia) [part 2]

xXx

Slowly opening the art room door, you crossed your fingers, hoping that fate would have mercy on you and let this room be the one Ivan was hiding in. First, you saw the white board. Next, you saw scattered sets of easels and splattered paints. Then, you smelled the light scent of flowers and air conditioning. And finally, you saw the giant figure sitting in a chair, obscured from your view by a large easel and canvas.

"Hello, Ivan!" you said happily. "I finally found you!"

Ivan looked up, startled that someone would walk in at this time. It was lunch, and the entire student body was in the cafeteria or out on the yard, eating food. Ivan's raised hand paused, brush poised for a gentle stroke.

"Ah… [Name]," he said quietly. Ivan smiled. "_Privyet_. What brings you here?"

"You, of course. We're supposed to be spending time together, remember?"

You snuck inside the room and let the door close behind you, hearing it click shut. The scent of flowers was much more prominent now, but you couldn't seem to place the specific flower. Lavender maybe?

As if observing a gallery, you strolled through the art room, taking a look at all the different canvases and their paintings. It looked like the class was working on one scene in particular. There was a small group of mountains with waterfalls cascading down into a large lake, and a wide, open sky with a sundry of clouds. Paints ranged from acrylics to watercolor, oils to gouache.

As you winded around the room in slow, thoughtful steps, you grew closer to the young man still painting in the very back of the classroom. You noticed that he was watching you, occasionally glancing out of the corner of his eye, and that he was gliding his paintbrush over a much larger canvas than the rest of the landscapes. Was he working on something else?

"Watcha working on?" you said curiously, already heading towards Ivan.

The Russian then did something odd. As you got nearer, he subtly took ahold of his easel and swung it around so that you once again saw only the backing of his canvas. You realized that _his_ easel was portable, and that he was sitting on a rolling chair.

You pouted. "Aw, can't I see?"

"_Nyet_," he answered easily, continuing to paint.

A determined look on your face, you tried to sneak around the easel, but Ivan once again turned the canvas to his benefit, moving back slightly.

"Please?" you pleaded. "I really want to see it."

Ivan shook his head. "_Nyet._ You wouldn't like it."

"How do you know that when I haven't even seen it yet?" Another attempt to sneak around the easel—thwarted.

It was a long moment of silence before Ivan said, "I'm not finished yet."

You perked up. "So you'll let me see when you're finished?"

He hesitated, amethyst eyes flickering to yours.

"…okay."

You grinned in triumph and decided to poke around the art room while you waited. Browsing through the landscapes again (man, you wished you could make art like that…), you started to pick out your favorites. There was one that made the mountains look like mounds of candy while another made them look like piles of money. One was swept up in a frightening windstorm while another was as homely as a fire in the fireplace. Your favorite was dark and cool with a bright big moon in the sky.

"I'm finished," Ivan called from the back.

Skipping over to him, your eyes lit up in amazement at what he had painted so carefully upon the canvas. It was a set of tall, colorful acrylic onion domes perched high above a long stretch of colorless snow. You marveled at the little details, like birds flying high in the sky and the tiny little silhouettes of people walking on the pavements down below.

"The Cathedral of the Protection of Most Holy Theotokos on the Moat," you recited in one breath. Ivan stared at you, bewildered, and you laughed. "_Or_, Saint Basil's Cathedral—either one."

Ivan felt himself enjoying your laugh. A sudden inspiration struck him, and he got up from his chair, easily lifting the large canvas and carrying it over to an empty easel to dry. He motioned you to wait a few seconds as he disappeared behind a storage door, only to reappear again with another—smaller—canvas in his hands.

Ivan clipped the thin canvas to his rolling easel and cleaned his supplies at the sink.

"Have you seen the Cathedral before?" he asked as he prepared a set of watercolors.

You blinked in surprise at the instigation in conversation.

"Um, no, actually," you said sheepishly. "I just remember the name because I did a project on the Cathedral before."

Ivan didn't reply as he sat down in his chair once again and dabbed a bit of water into his paints.

You grabbed a chair nearby and straddled it close to his easel (staying behind it, as he probably didn't want you watching over his shoulder). "You're from Russia, right?" A nod. "Wow," you whistled. "I don't think I'd be able to live in Russia—or anywhere else too cold for that matter."

Ivan was distracted by his painting, but he had the manners to say, "Really? Why?"

"I've always liked cooler places—not warm, but not cold. Just like that moment in the evening when it's just after sunset and the sky is dark, but not pitch black. And there's a nice breeze that doesn't carry any scents at all."

"…you can feel all this from your house?"

"No," you said, shaking your head. "I like going to the park in the evening for moments like that. One time, I was sitting on this rickety-old bench and a little dove came out of nowhere and landed on the bench next to me! I was so amazed that I just stared at it until it flew away. The dove did this weird loop in the sky, right against the moon, and for a moment I couldn't even see it at all. But then it curved up into the sky and—I'll never forget this—it was suddenly in the middle of the moon's crescent curve, wings outstretched and glowing silver." You closed your eyes. "It was beautiful."

"I'm sure it was," came the sincere reply. "What about the rest of the park? Were there trees?"

"Oh, yes. There were tall, dark oak trees all around the edges of the park. They blocked out most of the lights from the neighborhood, so it was pretty dark. I stayed there for at least an hour, just listening to my iPod and watching the stars."

There was a long, fat silence as Ivan kept conducting long strokes on the canvas, nodding to an inaudible beat, and you stayed quiet as you watched him indulge in a world of his own. Some part of you wished that he stopped painting and listen to your story, but it was a very small part, really. There was a faint smile on his face as he worked the colors, and you somehow found that intriguing.

The end of lunch suddenly rang from the hall, and you jumped. Ivan didn't even flinch and made no move to stop painting. Curious, you decided to stay with him. What did it matter if you were late to Health class?

Ten minutes after the tardy bell rang, Ivan stopped painting and looked over his newest piece. He nodded approvingly and gave you a kind smile.

"It's not very good, but would you like to see it?"

"Yes!" You got up from the chair and moved around the easel. "What is…oh…"

It was a watercolor painting of a cool, quiet scene in the park. The sky was dark, but not pitch black, and there were dark oak trees bordering the far edges of the grassy pavements, a warm, orange light glowing from behind them. In the center of the scene was a small painted figure of _you_ sitting on the head of a wooden bench, back facing you, looking up at a silver crescent moon. In the center of the moon's smooth curve was a tiny dove, flying high with its wings perfectly outstretched.

So he really _was_ listening to you talk.

"This is amazing," you breathed.

Ivan blushed. He got up to clean his brushes in an effort conceal the pink on his face.

"I'm glad you like it," he said, so quiet that you couldn't hear him.

"Wait!" you said just before he started running the sink water. "Do you mind if I…?" You gestured vaguely to the painting and his paints.

"Sure," was his response as he handed you a paint brush. He waited for you to do something.

You were far from being an artist like Ivan, but you were very confident that you would get this just right. Dipping the hairs of the thin brush in a blob of plum-red, you dabbed on a splotch of something right next to you on the bench. After, a very light mix of beige, and finally, a thin trail of red.

"Tada~!" you sang, dramatically waving your arm in the air.

Ivan peered in closer to realize what you had painted. It was _him_, sitting on the bench with you in his pinkish woolen coat, arm pointed to the dove in the sky. A pair of red ear buds connected both of you together, lazily trailing down into the grass below.

But of course, you lacked any sort of art infinity whatsoever, so Ivan's large figure looked _terrible_.

Ivan laughed, heartily and loud. It startled you at first, but then you elbowed him in the gut.

"Shut up!" you pouted. "I know it's not the greatest ever—stop laughing at me!"

A playful glint in his eyes. "But I'm not laughing _at_ you, [Name]," he smiled, "I'm laughing _with_ you."

The happy expression on his face was contagious, and soon, the two of you were grinning at each other like love struck idiots.

xXx


	65. Fun: Artistic Russia part 3

64. Fun (Russia) [part 3]

xXx

"Ivan Braginski!" you chastised. "From this day forth, you are no longer allowed to lounge around all day on my couch without my permission!"

The Russian took one look at your stern expression, contemplated the current sketch in his hands, and smartly got off the couch—only to plop down on the floor right in front of it.

You pursed your lips at his childish antics.

It was the weekend just before the end of your week-long project, and your relationship with Ivan had grown considerably stronger. Long lengths of silences were usually filled with pleasant conversation and your husband's trademark lack of attention came down to earth often enough for you to know that he at least cared about the grade. Out of the whole class, the two of you were probably the highest ranking in maturity. While other couples bitterly fought amongst each other or teased awkward classmates, you were sitting quietly with Ivan in the back of the class, conversing peacefully with him about random topics. It was a nice and enjoyable friendship.

But even though spending time with Ivan wasn't unpleasant, nor was it very exciting. Ivan could spend hours just sitting alone with a sketch book and pencils. You, on the other hand, could not. To compensate for this and still spend time with each other, Ivan often came over your house to draw while you did homework. Still, it was quite boring to be with him most of the time.

Today was going to be different, though. Today, you two were going…

Ivan looked up in surprise. "The annual fair?" You nodded. "I've never been there before," he admitted.

You grinned. "Then it's perfect! Come on, let's go!"

Looking back and forth from his sketch book, Ivan seemed to hesitate for a moment. "Umm…"

Knowing that all he needed was encouragement, you offered a friendly hand to him.

"Come on, big guy," you grinned. "Time to get out and have some fun."

xXx

"…[Name]?"

"Yes?" you said as you dug around in your wallet.

"What is there to do at a fair?"

You looked up, not in surprise, but in excitement.

"There's fair games, rollercoasters, rides, prizes, food, shows—all kinds of things!"

"Really? That's a lot of things to do…"

"Don't worry, if it's too much then just say so," you said, still excited but now with a slight trace of disappointment. "We can leave whenever you like."

Which was when the shy Russian promised to himself that he wouldn't speak a word of complaint to [Name], even if his feet were hurting so much from walking around that they were bleeding.

xXx

The massive fairgrounds were packed with enormous rollercoasters, rip-off games, and fattening food stands. It had taken nearly an hour to finally unmute the Russian and get him to relax in the crazily active atmosphere. He had even played several rounds of bumper cars with you. You were very proud of him for giving the fair a chance.

At some point in time, during a long walk from Ferris wheel to drink stand, there was a brief switch in roles between guide and guided.

Ivan, looking all around him as you led him to some much-needed hydration, noticed that there were a lot of couples at the fair, laughing and having a good time together. There was a strange tug in his chest, and he realized that he must've looked like the world's biggest idiot, walking at such a safe distance away from [Name]—who was _supposed_ to be his _wife_ in the first place!

A large hand slipped its fingers in between your own, and you nearly jumped in surprise. Ivan was smiling cheerily down at you; sparkling, childish violet eyes awaited your reaction.

It was as if the whole world froze.

On one hand, you panicked. Oh god—oh god—he was _holding your hand_. A boy _was holding your hand_. You had about as much experience in the love department as Alfred had in the girl's makeup department! His skin was so warm, too—and it sent a tingling sensation shooting through your arms. You were suddenly worried that your hands were sweaty or that you were holding too tight or too loose.

On the other hand, you rejoiced at the intimate contact. Ivan—the tall, quiet, intimidating boy in the back of class—was here…with you…holding _your hand_ and walking with you in a public area. Didn't that mean he liked you? _Le gasp!_ What if he did?

Oh, but wait a second. _We're supposed to be a married couple by project_, you mourned (somewhat bitterly). Ivan was probably holding your hand because he thought it was appropriate for the assignment.

But what if…

Suppressing your growing feelings with the thought of utter disappointment, you finally gave Ivan a big smile, hoping that your shy expression would be enough of a hint to tell him how you were feeling inside.

xXx

It was game time.

As your last ball wiped the table clean of heavy-ass bottles, you leaped for joy. The game-tender handed you a fluorescent, stuffed dragon doll. After that, you and Ivan threw darts until nearly all the tokens were used up. By the time you had started to get hungry for a late lunch, you had won most of the throwing and aiming games; Ivan had won the strength contest and a ring-tossing game.

Having stuffed all but one prized into your handy-pack (you held onto an adorable looking monkey), you and Ivan headed over to the food court for food.

As Ivan's hand once more enclosed around yours (he held your hand at every opportunity), you decided to go out on a limb and somewhat confront him about it.

"You—hey, Ivan," you said. "You don't have to—uh, force yourself to do this." To show what you meant, you gave his hand a quick squeeze.

The action did funny things to Ivan's heart. Covering his embarrassment up, he said, "But we're married, aren't we?"

A heads turned as you walked by. You looked down, red-faced.

"W-Well, yeah—you're right, I guess." Oh god, did you just stutter? Desperate to appear normal, you blurted, "But we're not really, married you know?"

Ivan's smile fell ever-so slightly and his hand loosened just a bit.

"I mean," you continued on, trying to save your stupid-self, "you haven't even given me a ring yet."

"A ring?" Ivan wondered to himself. _Ah, yes. A ring…_

"Wanna get a hot dog? Or maybe a hamburger?" you asked, looking up at the menu.

"I'll eat what you're eating, [Name]," Ivan said. "Sorry, I need to go do something. I'll be right back."

Turning your head just as the Russian took off, you barely managed a good-bye.

You shrugged. He probably had to go to the restroom or something.

xXx

Nearly half-an-hour later, a hand tapped your shoulder. It was Ivan, hands deep in his coat pockets, looking both delighted and triumphant.

"Where have you been?" you asked, exasperated. "It's been almost thirty minutes. I thought you got lost or something!"

Ivan's unfaltering grin was too adorable to stay mad at. You sighed tiredly, but smiled all the same.

"Remember when you said that you didn't have a ring?" he said innocently. Your eyes involuntarily flickered to his hidden hands in his pockets as you slowly nodded. Then—to your utter surprise and delight—the young man got on one knee in front of you, pulled out a small plastic box from his pocket, and held it up shyly.

"I-Ivan…"

He opened the box, and inside laid a simple ring (obviously won from a carnival game) with a silver plastic band and a small light-blue, 5-petaled flower. Laid in its center was a fake diamond.

"[Full Name], will you accept this ring?" Ivan said loud and clear.

Several heads had turned in your direction, but you were too overwhelmed with a rush of feelings to notice. Before your brain fully process what was going on, you swallowed useless responses and nodded your head slowly.

A small applause sounded all around the two of you, followed by 'ooh's and 'aww's as Ivan hopped up in glee, pulling you up from the picnic bench. He gently took your hand and, with your permission, slid the cheap ring onto the proper finger. He even placed a quick kiss to your forehead right after. More cries of adoration.

And when you looked up into his eyes, you saw—or at least dared to see—a slight glimmer of the same emotions reflected in your own expression. Shy happiness, excitement, anticipation

It was in this moment with Ivan, with the fake ring and the pretend marriage—with his hands still lingering on yours and normally stoic expression alight with a genuine smile—that you realized that maybe, just maybe, after the project…staying this close together was something you'd still like to continue.

In his mind, Ivan was most definitely thinking along the same lines.

xXx

"So, did you have a good time today? I'm sure it was much more fun than sitting around in my house, sketching random things while I do homework," you teased. Ivan was holding your hand (the opposite of your ringed) as you crossed a street.

Your Russian partner smiled a knowing smile.

"I had fun just being with you."

That shut you up real good.

"[Name]? Your cheeks look red. Are you okay?"

"…mm-yeah. I'm fine."

xXx


	66. If Only: Artistic Russia part 4

65. If Only (Russia) [part 4]

xXx

"A D? You gave me a fucking D?" Alfred shrieked. "What the—"

"Haha! Kesesesese! Look at that sexy B, baby~!"

"What did we get?" Ivan whispered, leaning in over your shoulder.

You showed him the grading sheet and grinned. Up on the top was a big, bold A. Ivan's entire expression brightened.

"Great job," you said warmly.

"You, too," he replied, eyes twinkling.

You swooned.

xXx

In just a few hours, life had moved on for students from the dramas of the infamous Marriage Project. For the most part, it was as if no one had been paired up in holy matrimony at all. There were some surviving few that still retained friendships with their spouses and ate lunch together in companionship, and some still yet held bitter resentment for their other half (Alfred's bullying of Arthur increased tenfold).

You and Ivan were one of the few couples that stayed together.

The hours spent alone in the art room were hours of peaceful alone in the art room were hours of peaceful bliss. You loved to watch Ivan doodle out on the easel, and sometimes you even joined him by his side. (_"Just draw what comes to mind, [Name]. It will be beautiful no matter what."_) Some of your friends didn't know what you saw in him, but others (like Elizabeta) teased you to no end with silly comments and casting you amused glances in class, much to your embarrassment.

Over the next few weeks of being together, Ivan picked up the habit of holding your hand while walking around, and you developed a tendency to play around with the ring he had given you at the carnival (the "Engagement Ring," as your friends nicknamed it).

A part of you wanted to stay in this simply wonderful relationship for as long as you could. Yet, another part of you ached with the knowledge that something as peaceful as this was bound to run into trouble. On some days, out of nowhere, you panicked about the future. Would this relationship with Ivan last? What if something happened to him? What if he cheated on you? What if you actually _got married?_ What would you do?

During mini-panic-moments, Ivan could tell that something was bothering you, but after being denied an answer the first few dozens of times, he simply kissed you sweetly on the forehead and held you close. The simple routine gave you much comfort.

It was then that you slipped into the easy knowledge that you were in love with him, and that he'd be the only one for you for the rest of your life.

xXx

He started acting weird during the third month.

There were times where you could tell his mind was somewhere far off, and—somehow—you could tell that he was dwelling somewhere far from pleasant. Dark shadows fell over his face when he thought you weren't looking. Obviously, something was stressing him out, but he wasn't telling you anything.

One day at lunch, you finally confronted him.

xXx

"Ivan," you said firmly. "Is there something going on that you're not telling me about?"

The young man's hand froze on the canvas. That was another thing that tipped you off. His artistic pieces were somehow more sad and lonely than before.

After a very long time of waiting (he heard your question, no doubt; and you were very patient with him), Ivan let go of the breath he had been holding. His painting hand fell to his side, defeated.

"There is something…at home that is not going very well," he said with much difficulty.

You waited quietly for him to continue.

Ivan looked down, refusing to meet your eye.

"My sisters and I are… We will be moving back to Russia soon," he said quietly.

Your heart stopped. "Moving…back? You're going away?" you said, your voice surprisingly stable even though it felt like something in you was suddenly torn apart. "When?"

Ivan, for all his intimidating stature, winced into himself, and then he seemed very small. "In two weeks."

Your short-lived calm demeanor cracked. "_Two weeks?_" you nearly cried. "What—were you going to wait until the day before you leave before you said something to me?"

"[Name], I—"

"Why were you waiting to tell me this?" you demanded, a little harsher than you'd intended. Your eyes pressed for more answers. _Why didn't you tell me this sooner? How could you keep this from me? How could you _leave _me?_

Ivan got up from his chair and went straight to where you sat, glaring at him with mixed anger and anguish. He took your hands and pressed them to his lips, hard. It was then you realized that tears threatened to spill over.

"Our family calls us home urgently and we can't wait any longer than two weeks from now. My sisters are tired of living here, and my older sister is not planning to apply for a new visa for us. I tried to convince her to let me stay here, but she refuses to look for a way around the laws of your country." Ivan's eyes gazed directly into yours, and you couldn't look away. "[Name], you don't know how much I want to stay here with you, but I just…can't. I—just can't stay here. I'm so sorry, [Name]," he murmured into your cold fingers. "I'm sorry. I tried. I really did."

You couldn't take it anymore. Trembling with grief, you suddenly stood up from your chair—and for a moment, Ivan was afraid you were going to strike him down in anger. He closed his eyes and prepared for the blow he deserved, but was utterly surprised when a pair of arms wrapped around his neck and a warm face pressed into his woolen scarf. He lifted his arms to hold you, hands slightly charred by charcoal, pressing you tenderly to his chest.

"I wish you didn't have to go," you whispered softly, "but I won't get in the way of your family." You sniffed. "I know that your sisters are really important to you."

Ivan could feel his heart breaking in two. "I don't want to go," he murmured. "I want to—"

"No," you said as sternly as you could. "Don't—do that. Keep it simple, will you? You'll go…" A deep breath. "You'll go because you have to go, and that's that." Pulling back, you gave him a sad smile, your fingers gently stroking the edges of his face. "I just wish you told me sooner. How am I gonna spend two weeks with you now?"

Ivan momentarily closed his eyes; it was as if your fingers were wiping imaginary tears from his cheeks. He gazed down at you, a hesitant expression on his face. "If I asked you to wait for me, would you?"

You leaned on him a little more, deep in thought. "…I don't know. How long are you staying there?"

"At least until I finish high school." He chuckled dryly. "Never mind, I won't ask you to wait for me."

Despite yourself, you smiled. Then you said, "Even if we grow apart, can you promise me that we'll be friends no matter what?"

Ivan kissed the crown of your hair. "Of course. I promise."

xXx

Two weeks later, you suddenly found yourself clinging tightly to Ivan in his winter coat (earning vicious glares from his younger sister) while his fellow plane passengers began boarding the plane. You stayed strong and resolute as he kissed your forehead, your lips, and both cheeks. After a whispered exchange of_ 'I love you'_s and a final hug goodbye, Ivan vanished beyond the boarding entrance and was gone.

You watched as the sleek Russian-bound plane slowly rolled away, your trembling fingers fiddling with the fake engagement ring he had given you a lifetime ago.

"Goodbye," you whispered, uncaring of the tears that fell.

xXx

"Goodbye," Ivan whispered as the tiny figure of [Name] disappeared from the corner of his window.

xXx

* * *

><p><strong><em>AN: Thank you very much for reading! And a big thank you to the-Blurple-Mage, for letting me use her brilliant Artistic!OOC!Russia. :3_**


	67. Rivalry: North Italy vs South Italy

66. Rivalry (North Italy/South Italy)

xXx

"_Bella, bella! Where'd you go, mio bella?_" sang Italian in the hallway. "_I'm home now~!_"

It was hot and stuffy in the hidden closet, yet you were covered in ice cold sweat. Behind you, Romano crushed your unmoving body to his chest, as inanimate as a rock. The air was still and tangible. Neither of you were breathing.

Loud footsteps echoed throughout the house. The sound of expensive dress shoes.

"_Fratello! Where are you hiding my bella, ah? In—here?_" CRASH! "_…or maybe in here?_" Another door was kicked open, even closer now.

Strangely calm, you didn't even flinch as the footsteps eventually reached the hidden closet door and stopped there. Romano's hands were shaking terribly on your sides. He lifted his gun hand slightly, fingers tightening on the grip. You shot him a warning look but he ignored it. You didn't even dare to whisper.

Suddenly, a terrible crash ricocheted against the hidden closet's wall. Light poured in through the open entryway. You bit back the instinct to scream. He was in the closet now.

"_[Name]?_" a light voice prompted in the entrance, so loud that it made your skin crawl with goose bumps. Oh, that voice. You haven't heard that voice in almost a _year_. "_[Name], I promise not to hurt you or fratello! I'm a little upset that you didn't even bother to call, but I'll forgive you if you just come out! Come on, bella. I miss you so much._"

From the cracks of the camouflaged crate, you saw glimpses of his auburn hair under a black fedora. Something silver flashed in his chest pocket. Despite the conditions of your reunion (you: terrified and hiding in a crate with Romano; him: kicking down doors and killing body guards to find you), your heart leaped from its chest. He was here and he was here for you. He wanted you more than anything in the world. He was willing to do anything to obtain you.

Romano's protective arms tightened further, and you were brought back to reality.

There was an incredible moment of absolute silence before the perpetrator released a sad sigh and left the room to search the rest of the house.

xXx

For hours in the stale crate, Romano and you didn't make a sound as you waited for him to leave. You glanced at the expensive crystal watch on your damp wrist. Six hours of searching was ridiculous. Someone must have tipped him off of your location.

Even when the front door slammed and a rumbling car drove away from the house, you knew he was still here, waiting for you to come out. He played this trick twice before, waiting at least three more hours before finally giving up. Exhaustion was beginning to tinge the edges of your vision. Even Romano's relentless grip loosened a bit.

At last, when there was no light at all in the house and you were about to go mad from waiting, a tormented sigh from just outside in the hall exploded in the silence. Your eyes widened. He was that close and you didn't even realize it?

A shadowy figure paused in its leaving at the entryway of the hidden closet. After a minute or so, he swiftly pulled on his jacket and left the hallway.

Neither of you dared to breathe until the sound of his car disappeared well beyond the gravel road.

"He's gone," Romano whispered wearily. All the tension gone, you sagged tiredly against his chest. Gun placed on the side, a shower of kisses rained upon your cheek and your neck. "He's gone now, [Name]. We're safe."

Turning in his hold, you kissed him full-on on the mouth—hard. "Thank god."

After shuffling around with much difficulty (it was hard to see in the pitch black crate), you were able to finally wretch the cover of the damned box free from its holdings. Crisp, clean air hit your skin with the clarity of crystal. You relished in its sweet freshness.

"I'll scout the house," Romano said quietly, already checking the hall for remaining intruders. "Stay here. Keep the piece on you." Without another word, he vanished around the corner. The last thing you saw of him was the glinting black handgun in his hand.

Following his orders, you fished around the empty crate for the handgun, picked it up, and expertly gripped it in your hands. Before you got into all this drama, you couldn't even imagine holding a gun. You were quite the plain, ditsy little girl—that is, everyone _believed_ you to were just a ditsy little girl. That was when Feliciano came along and saw you for who you truly were—a young woman with more to her than meets the eye; the moment his liquid amber eyes locked with yours, you knew he was trouble. But there was no stopping destiny from taking its toll. It had only just begun.

As they always say: _"Once you're in, you can never go back."_

He had inherited the business from his late grandfather, or so he told you. At first, it was still alright with you. You didn't mind the money that seemed to come out of nowhere or the nights his place in bed would be empty or even the times where he came home covered in blood. But that was before you truly saw the monster Feliciano could be. The unfortunate man who tried to hit on you in the bar never saw the light of day ever again; nor did his entire family. This was when you discovered that he had a brother, Romano, and you instantly fell in love all over again. You just couldn't stay there any longer. It took months—nearly a year—to finally escape with Romano—and even then, you weren't free of the man you once called your lover.

You released a breath of air. _I need a girly friend. There's just no one to talk about this with. I mean, how many people have stalker-boyfriends that are in the mafia? Let alone, a fucking Boss?_

Head lost in thought, you hugged yourself. The evening air was seeping through your blouse and making you cold. For some odd reason, you almost felt like crying. You hadn't cried in years…

An arm suddenly wrapped itself around your waist and pulled you against the cool material of a well-pressed suit.

"Found you," purred Feliciano in your ear.

A scream got caught in your throat. His free hand covered your mouth, silencing you before you could even utter a word.

"Make a sound," he hushed, "and I make the call on _fratello_."

Despite yourself, you shivered, and Feliciano thought it felt so good against his body. You fought back the urge to tear yourself from his possessive hold. How could something be so familiar, yet so terrifying? And where was Romano? _WHERE WAS ROMANO?_

"Are you ready to come back to me now?" he murmured, kissing the soft skin on of your exposed neck. "I missed you so much, _bella_. I really did."

Praying that he wouldn't feel your heart beating out of control, you slowly shook your head. Was Romano captured? No, you could hear him in the kitchen, opening the creaky wooden door. Tears sprang to the corners of your eye. You bit your lip.

The kissing just got more insistent. "You still believe him when he says he loves you? _Fratello_ is just jealous of me; that's the only reason why he wants you." He whispered, "But he'll never have you because you're mine and I love you more."

Suppressing a cry of outrage, you tried to wrench the gun in a position to shoot him straight through the gut, but Feliciano was stronger than he was before. Your arms were pinned to your sides in a mocking embrace.

His tongue clucked, admonishing. "Don't force me to do things you'll regret," he said in a soft, deadly voice. "I would rather take you while you're conscious, and I don't think you want me to kill dear old _fratello_, do you?"

You grit your teeth hard, cursing him with every fiber of your soul. But eventually, your shoulders dropped—defeated.

"_That's my bella_," he whispered in Italian. "_Come, follow me._"

Hand firmly trapped in his surprisingly iron grip, you followed him like a shadow throughout the deserted house, all the way outside to your car in the garage. Behind you, you thought you heard Romano's faint voice calling your name.

"_Keys_," Feliciano reminded, holding his hand out.

Reluctantly, you pulled out Romano's car keys from your pocket and placed it—none too kindly—in his hand. Feliciano's ever present feral smile only widened.

"_[Name]?_" You were sure Romano knew you'd been taken now. His footsteps pounded, getting closer.

_He was coming outside_. Your eyes flickered from treetop to treetop wildly, searching for the sniper that would kill him. Feliciano had your door opened and was gesturing for you to step inside, a very calm air about him. Your window to escape just shriveled up dead. Romano was almost to the front door. He would get shot. He would die.

It was as hard as hell to make yourself duck your head under the roof and slip inside the car. Feliciano coolly rounded about the engine and joined you in the front, starting the car and putting the vehicle into drive. Romano's running got faster.

He never made it in time. Bursting out from the front door, he looked around frantically for you—any sign of you—but he saw nothing. [Name] was gone, his car was gone, and his goddamned brother was gone.

Romano 's whole body felt like molten lead. He slammed his fist into the door behind him, ripping a solid block of wood from its workings, yet he felt so suddenly down and defeated that he dropped to his knees, head down, trying to keep the tears from falling.

xXx

_"Roma Veneziano_," Feliciano told the woman at the front desk.

The pretty brunette smiled. "_Room for two? Here you go._" She handed him the key.

Feliciano's possessive hold around your waist pressed you closer. "_Grazie._"

You tried not to think about the pleasant shivers running up your spine, staring resolutely at the hotel's grand entryway. Feliciano caught the longing in your eyes and felt a flare of jealousy scorn his heart. What did Romano have to make you wish for such freedom? _He_ had seen you first. _He_ was the lover you'd always fantasized, not his grumpy, bipolar brother.

As if to prove this to himself, Feliciano pushed you up against the empty elevator wall as soon as the doors closed, savoring the shivers he could feel emanating from your body. With one hand, he pulled your leg up to wrap around his waist; with the other, his fingers laced deeply between the locks of your hair. He kissed you gently and thoroughly, slowly moving your lips to his. You barely suppressed a moan, but in vain. He could feel it stuck in your chest—pressed so close to him—trying not to make a sound, and yet purring for more.

You felt him smirk into the kiss and forced your rising hands down, away from desperately pulling him closer. What the hell were you doing? Resist, damn it, _resist_.

"_Ti amo, bella_," he whispered huskily as you broke for air. "_You're mine and only mine. Why did you leave me? You love me, [Name], don't deny it._"

"Because running away with your brother and trying to escape from you and your gang is the ultimate form of love," you snapped harshly, trying to keep your face from flushing red.

A chuckle vibrated in the hollow of his throat. "_Why do you keep speaking in English? Talk to me in Italiano, bella. I want to hear your voice._"

"No," you said firmly. He paused, deliberating over this answer, and then started kissing you again until the elevator door opened. Still firmly in his hold, you had no choice but to let him pull you down the hallway to the room around the corner. Inside, Feliciano wasted no time in locking the door behind him. He guided you through the room, his palm pressing against the small of your back. Your knee suddenly bumped something low and cushioned, and you knew it was the bed.

Hot fingers suddenly left blazing trails of fire on your bare skin. You leaped at his touch, springing away from him and shoving your shirt back down, glaring.

Feliciano's face was alight with a mischievous grin, but instead of attempting to recapture you, he simply began undressing. Your heart was beating too fast for comfort at the familiar sight of his lean muscles and toned skin. It was a warm color, like the sun. Your lips ached to kiss it.

Catching your stare, Feliciano's grin got wider. You blushed red, embarrassed. _Bastardo_, you cursed.

Tossing his socks carelessly to the side, Feliciano then surprised you by simply slipping under the bed covers (clad in only a pair of red boxers) and falling asleep.

You stood there, staring at him for at least a full ten minutes. What was this, some kind of trick?

After a very long time of just sitting in the hotel room, warily watching his sleeping figure until your eyes grew tired. Conflicting feelings raged inside of you. No, you had not forgotten what it was like to love Feliciano Vargas. You probably never would.

Against all your vows, you fell into a deep, fatigued sleep in the desk chair. Feliciano (lying awake in the bed) knew the exact moment you closed your eyes. He waited a while and then—as quick and nimble as a feline—he carried your exhausted figure to the bed, slipped you gently under the cool sheets of the bed, and then slipped in right after you, all without disturbing your sleep. He didn't undress you (even though he ached to hold your bare shoulders) because you would be angry with him in the morning.

In your sleep, you snuggled deeper into his chest, murmuring, "_Romano…_"

Feliciano felt a flare of anger rise and fall in his heart. Something dark flashed in his rich auburn irises.

She felt safe then, if she muttered his name. Feliciano held you closer, closing his eyes for sleep.

_It's a start._

xXx

"_...si, give the package to Marco. If he's not there when I get there, kill him._"

"_Si, capo famiglia._"

Without another word, Romano shut his phone and shoved it in his back pocket. It was hard to navigate in the dark of the early morning, but he managed to find the latch on the trunk of the car. He pulled it open and the vehicle lights automatically switched on.

The abandoned vehicle was completely barren, save for the awaiting black case under the tarp of the trunk. Romano pulled the black tarp aside and tested the handle. It was missing a screw. This case wasn't tampered with. He opened it and checked all parts of the Thompson, making dead sure that it was _his_ submachine and not a decoy's.

Romano shut the trunk and leaned against it, pulling out a lighter and a brand new pack. Breathing in the burning nicotine, he instantly felt lightheaded and dizzy. He watched as the smoke tumbled in the air, disappearing. [Name] would be furious with him if she knew he had picked up his old habit. She would complain about the smell for weeks.

Romano dropped the unfinished cigarette and crushed it into the road. The burning smell was overwhelming.

[Name] would be back with him by tomorrow.

And his brother would be dead.

xXx


	68. Wish: England

67. Wish (England)

xXx

_In the middle of the forest, there is a wishing well. _

_Every morning of every day, he would park his old, run-down car off the side of the dirt road and take a short hike down the makeshift path he had marked with bits and pieces of red ribbon. This place was his secret, something that he didn't share with anyone except for her._

_He always had a handful of coins in his pocket—all pennies. His father had once told him that usually, smaller offerings were of higher appeal to the fairies. It showed humility. Fairies loved humility. _

_He would find the wishing well in the same condition it was always in: damp, mossy, crumbling to bits. And yet there was an air of something unrealized all around the small, shaded clearing. It was the feeling of anticipation. Like being on the edge of everything you've ever dreamed of. _

_Arthur would pause then, being sure to spell out his exact wish in his mind, focusing on it with ardent effort as if it held the last words in the entire world, and he were the guardian to unleash its great power. Usually, it wasn't too hard to do this, since he only ever wished for one thing. _

_He dropped his coin. He held very still and waited for it to hit the bottom. And then it did. It was subtle and soft, but still there. Arthur would always imagine that he could feel the quiet breath of fairies on his warm cheeks as they whirled past him into the depths of the well to see what treasure had been offered to them. _

_Then he would hike back into the real world. Arthur would get in his car and drive away. _

xXx

_Every night of every exhausting day, he would park his old, run-down car in his regular spot at the hospital._

_He would show himself into her room, always knocking beforehand like a true gentleman, and then he would hang his jacket on the rack near the door, placing his briefcase on the side and shutting off his phone. _

_Then he would sit next to her and tell her about his day at work. He would smile at her and hold her hand and kiss her soft skin every other second. Sometimes he would just sit quietly and stare at nothing. Sometimes he would make a fuss about the city lights seeping through the thin veils of curtain and how the muffled sound of constant traffic was so bothersome. _

_And still yet, sometimes he would find himself crying for no reason at all. _

_The nurse was always there to make sure Arthur found a way home when visiting hours were over. _

xXx

_Every day, it was the same thing. Wake up, get dressed, wishing well, work, lunch, more work, hospital, home. Over and over again. Over and over and over again. _

_Keeping up with the wishing well was the hardest. Sometimes he would run out of coins to offer. Sometimes he was late because it took too long to focus on his wish. Sometimes he felt too tired. Sometimes he slipped on the muddy trail. Sometimes he lost his car keys along the way. _

_But he still visited the wishing well._

_Every morning of every day. _

_Until the day came where there was no need to visit the wishing well. _

_It rained on her funeral. _

xXx

"…oh, [Name]," he laughed brightly. "[Name], [Name], [Name]…"

The city lights were unbearably bright, but they were bloody nothing compared to the stars in the sky. Oh, so many stars there were, like crystals in the sky. Was [Name] in the sky now? _Sky, sky, sky_, like a mantra. A chant to keep his mind in the clouds.

He laughed again. Was he drunk again? The wine glass next to him shivered in the cold. Wind swept his hair every which way. It was so tall and dark and bright and everything was so beautiful.

Everything was so beautiful.

Below him, far, far, far down below him, dark waters gently lapped the steel supporters of the bridge. He could feel it, he swore. Like tiny, tickling voices in his ear. This place was _magic_.

Standing up from his careful perch, he threw caution to the wind, quite literally, and felt his feet stumble a bit. The world suddenly tottered on its side. The city was suddenly upside down and the water was suddenly the sky.

He was not flying, he knew. Arthur was falling.

Falling, down, down, like a coin. More heartwarming laughter. Like a coin! Like a wishing coin!

He knew what to do then, even as the sky was getting closer and closer and the butterflies in his stomach frenzied out of control.

He made a wish.

This was no simple phrase of words. This was no careful configuration of specific desires. This was an outright demand for everything he'd ever wished for. This was a smoldering, glowing image of the woman he loved. He could practically feel her arms around his neck, her lips laughing softly against his mouth.

And then, suddenly, she was _there_. _There with him. _And she smiled. And she was warm.

"[Name]," he chuckled, tears flying off his face, all the joy in the world in his arms.

Basking in the glory of happiness, his whole body had a patient still to it. He was waiting for the coin to hit the bottom of the well. He was waiting for his wish—this new, beautiful wish—to come true.

xXx

The sound was subtle and soft, but still there.

xXx

They never did find his body.

xXx


	69. Passion: France

68. Passion (France)

xXx

He was never the same after his sister's death.

For days after the funeral, he could hardly even get out of bed. The grief was too much to bear. A few of his friends visited his apartment, but none of them could stay for more than an hour or so. Alfred offered awkward apologies that he could hardly get out. Arthur offered his housekeeping skills and did his laundry. Mathieu offered the simple feeling of companionship and sympathetic silence. Though unrelated by blood, the four of them considered each other brothers, and what brother would leave his family to misery and heartache?

But the trio could see that their efforts were in vain. Francis simply gave up living. He would eat when prompted to, but never spoke, his eyes haunted by the afterimage of his fragile little sister. It was understandable, his friends knew. Francis and Jeanne had been inseparable, and the way that Jeanne had been stolen from this life…

It had been cruel. Francis wondered what he had done to deserve such divine punishment. What had Jeanne done to earn her death?

Life was unbearable.

xXx

Walking down the chilly streets of Paris, you glared up at the small rumble of thunder in the sky. It was going to rain. It was going to rain and you had nothing to protect you. The sky was pale and grey and much too bright for such a cold day. Earlier that morning, you had had half the mind to bust out your winter coat just to walk outside.

Classes were equally mind-numbing. Hardly into college, instructional time was surprisingly easy for you (always the smart one, eh?), but the teachers were so boring that you sometimes wondered whether or not these Fine Arts credits were worth the trouble.

Sitting in the middle of a lesson in how to draw lines, a group of handsome young men caught your eye. One of them smiled charmingly and winked. You rolled your eyes and focused intently on doodling in your notebook. As per usual, only a handful of students sat in the workshop, and only a few were actually paying attention. You glanced at the empty seat in the second row from the front.

_He's not here again_, you thought sadly.

The blue-eyed Frenchman and you were not friends by far. Sometimes as you walked by he would give you a playful grin, and sometimes as he entered the room he would catch your eye and you would smile. It was a small comfort to glance over at his tied-back wheat hair and rolled-up collared shirt. In a classroom full of strangers, it was nice to have someone with a friendly face.

But the man hadn't been to class for days. You hoped that he hadn't dropped out. He was a beautiful artist.

A beautiful artist, and a somewhat-friend.

xXx

On your evening route back from the convenience store, you saw a familiar head of blonde hair sitting on a park bench, the glowing end of a cigarette quietly burning between his fingertips.

You hesitated to approach him (it was dark, and half the men in Paris had the same look to them), but there was no denying it. After months of having his back in the corner of your eye, you knew you could recognize these shoulders anywhere.

He looked so cold in his thin, rolled up collared shirt.

"Hey," you said softly, as quiet as a shadow in your approach. At first, he didn't react at all, and you almost shied away. But slowly, the man raised his downturned face to look at who was speaking to him.

You nearly gasped aloud. His handsome face was unclean, unshaven, and disheveled. There were dark shadows of exhaustion set in his skin and his eyes were completely, utterly dull.

Dropping your grocery bags to the ground, you found yourself wrapping your arms firmly around him, burying your nose into his icy neck. How long had he been sitting there? _Merde_, he was freezing cold!

If the Frenchman was surprised at the sudden contact, he didn't show it. His arms were hanging, dead, by his sides. The cigarette he had been holding was fallen to the ground.

All feelings of embarrassment or shyness melted away. With the determination of a mother caring for her sick child, you knew that you had to save this young man. Gently pulling away from him, you picked up all of your groceries with one arm and softly gripped the Frenchman's hand. You pulled him to his feet, kind but firm, and led him back to your apartment where warmth awaited him. By the feel of his hand (or lack thereof), he was obviously too exhausted to resist you half-pulling, half-dragging him down the street.

Either that, or he was too tired to care.

xXx

Where was he going? Francis had no idea who this woman was, or why she had hugged him. He just remembered holding his last cigarette and thinking about Jeanne…

Something in him tingled. Maybe this beautiful woman was an angel and he had finally died and she was leading him away to where Jeanne was. Maybe he was finally going to reach peace. The hand that she held was already beginning spreading warmth throughout his body.

After what seemed like hours of treading through cold, cutting ice-winds, the angel led him through a door, and Francis was suddenly enveloped in the glow of heavenly warmth.

xXx

Trembling in pure ecstasy, you savored the moment of pure warmth as you entered your apartment's heated lounge. Throwing your very confused complex manager a smile, you led your classmate (whose name you suddenly remembered as Francis) to the fourth floor where you pulled him inside your small living quarters and locked the door behind you. Arm starting to ache with the weight of food and supplies, you wrapped Francis in several blankets before quickly putting away all of your fresh groceries.

Looking the Frenchman over with a critical eye, you were relieved to see that some life had warmed up in his azure eyes and that color had begun to return to his cheeks. And though his expression was still unfocused, it seemed as if he was sort of looking at _you_, trying to discern who you were and where you had taken him.

Digging some big clothes out, you found a clean towel and pulled Francis out of his layered shelter.

"Okay," you said, a gentle smile on your face. "I want you to take a warm—no, a _hot_ shower, and put these on. Come out when you're done, okay?"

It was like speaking to a five-year-old. When Francis was finally in the shower (your drastic adjustments to the temperature of the water caused a visible mist of steam rolling out from under the bathroom door), you journeyed to the kitchen to prepare him some warm soup.

xXx

The water was as hot as hell, but Francis welcomed the feeling of his very bones defrosting. His mind was beyond disorientated, but he had understood that the beautiful angel had wanted him to take a shower. For a second, it was as if he was himself again, and he almost winked at the girl to ask if she wanted to join him. But then reality crashed in before the idea settled and he remembered that he was a guest in the angel's beautiful home.

Francis let the water wash away all the grime and ugliness of grief and sorrow.

Certainly this was heaven, right?

xXx

The angel's gigantic shirt and long pants were perfect on him. He vaguely remembered being fed a bowl of delicious broth spoonful by spoonful by the patient girl, but it was hard to concentrate. She had let him lie in the bed and cocooned him in layers and layers of warm quilts as soft as feathered angel wings.

xXx

While Francis lay asleep in your bed under thick blankets, you ate your dinner quietly and watched as the man's shoulders rose and fell with every breath. His temperature was normal, but his skin was still deathly cold and the shadows under his eyes were nothing short of exhausted. Poor man. What had driven him to be so depressed? Did something happen to him? Was he homeless?

A loud, harsh ring suddenly reverberated throughout the room. You jumped, startled. The sound was coming from Francis' pile of clothes. It was his cellphone. Flipping it open, you discovered five missed calls. Someone was trying to reach him.

"Hello?" you said into the phone.

xXx

"_Bonjour?_" said a woman's voice into the phone.

Taken aback, Alfred swung the cell to his face. No, this was definitely Francis' number. Why was a lady answering it? Or was Francis drunk again and acting like a girl?

"Um, er," the American stuttered, "uh—is Francis there?"

"_O-Oh, Anglais? Parlez-vous français?_"

Alfred could understand that much at least. "Uh—_non. _I—uh—"

He heard a sigh and movement behind him. "Is he speaking French again?" Matthew said tiredly. "Here, I'll talk to him."

"Right." Into the phone, Alfred said quickly, "Uh, _uno momento._"

Matthew gave his friend an exasperated look but took the phone anyways. "_Hello?_" he said in French. "_Francis, are you still there?_"

"_Oh!_" came a voice that Matthew wasn't expecting. "_Please tell me that you speak French._"

Startled, Matthew didn't answer for a second, but recollected himself quickly.

"_Yes, I do speak French. I'm sorry, but where did you find this phone? We're looking for our friend—uh, the person who owns this phone_."

There was a relieved sigh. "_Yes, I found your friend at the park. Francis, that's his name, right?_"

"_Yes, it is! Thank god, we had no idea where he went off to!" _Matthew held in a cry of relief. "_Where are you right now? We can come to pick him up._"

The phone suddenly went haywire, and for a second Matthew could hardly hear the woman's voice over the roar of static. As quickly as it had come, the sound disappeared.

"_—you must be in a different area_," the woman was saying. "_There's a storm going on outside. I can hardly even see my street from the window. And you know how we French drive…_" There was a nervous chuckle at that. "_If it's okay, could I keep Francis in my apartment for the night?_"

Matthew hesitated. He was really worried for Francis. "_Is Francis there? Can I speak to him?_"

"_No, he's completely knocked out on my bed_." There was a gasp and Matthew could practically feel the heat radiating from her cheeks. "_I—I mean, not like _that_, I—oh, I'm so sorry. He—He's sleeping. I fed him some soup because he was so cold and he just fell asleep on his own. I don't think he's sick, but he's very tired and I don't want to wake him up. But if you want to come pick him up now, then I'll tell you the address._"

Matthew looked out the window of Francis' flat. He could see dark rainclouds rolling in the distant sky.

"_No_," he said, "_I don't think we'll be able to take him home. It's starting to rain here, too. I'm sorry, but could you maybe keep him at your apartment for the night? I hope that it's okay…_"

"_It's absolutely okay. How about I tell you my address and you can come for him…let's say, early afternoon?_"

Matthew nodded to himself. "_Yes, that would be great. Merci!_"

After a few minutes of working out the details with the mysterious young woman, the other end of the phone was suddenly very quiet.

"_Hello?_" Matthew said, hoping that she hadn't hung up.

"_Oh, sorry._" There was a long stretch of silence. "_I don't want to be nosy, but…Francis is talking in his sleep._"

"_He is? What's he saying?_"

"_He's telling Jeanne that he's sorry._"

"_Oh._"

There was an unspoken question in the air.

"_So, tomorrow?_" she said awkwardly. "_You remember my address, right?_"

"_Yes._" He paused. "_Jeanne was his sister. She recently…died._"

"_Ah_," she said, pained. "_I understand now. Yeah, he hasn't been to class for a long time now. I thought that he'd dropped out, but…_"

"_Yes?_" Matthew prompted.

"_I don't know. He was just…full of life and passion. He was a beautiful artist. I admired his artwork._"

Matthew actually smiled a little. "_I'm sure he'd be happy to hear that. Later, could you, um, talk to him? Just small talk, you don't have to say much._"

"_I will, I promise._"

"_Thank you. Oh, I can't believe I haven't even told you my name! I'm Matthew Williams, a friend of Francis'. The person you spoke to earlier was Alfred, and our other friend is Arthur._"

"_I'm [Name], and it's nice to, sort of, meet you, Matthew._"

"_Yes, and thank you for taking care of Francis._"

"_I'll see you all tomorrow. Good night!_"

Matthew finally closed his (now dying) cellphone and slipped it back in his pocket.

"So?" Alfred demanded. "Where is he?"

"It'll be okay, Al. He's at a friend's house and she's taking care of him. We're going to pick him up tomorrow at her apartment."

Intense blue eyes bored into the Canadian's weary expression. "You told her, right? About Jeanne? Did you tell her to hide all the knives and scissors and pills and—"

"No," Matthew interrupted firmly. "I didn't. Don't worry; she said that Francis is sleeping right now."

The American blinked, and then sighed in slight relief.

From the corner of the room, watching as the familiar mist of rain filled his sight, Arthur smiled half-heartedly.

"Thank goodness, then, if he's finally found sleep."

xXx

When Francis woke up, it was well into the heaviness of the night. Sitting up, he used his sleeve to clean off the thin sheet of sweat on his forehead, rolled up the arms as far as they would go, and relieved himself of several layers of blankets. Eyes adjusting to the darkness, he surveyed his surroundings, feeling better than he had for days.

The first thing he noticed was that he wasn't at home. The second thing he noticed was the figure entangled in a nest of blankets and pillows on the ground below him.

Francis turned onto his stomach, peered closer, and blinked in surprise. So the angel wasn't just in his dreams. She was really here, sleeping beside him, watching over his slumbering person. An odd feeling inside of him ached to brush lingering strands of hair from her face. In this air of peace, Francis was content to rest his chin on his arms and watch this beautiful young woman sleep.

When drowsiness began to set in, he didn't fight it as he usually tried to do. Instead, he let his sleepiness slowly settle around him and take over.

For the first time in a long time, he fell into a deep, restful sleep.

xXx

When you awoke, it was well into the morning.

Untangling yourself from the mess of blankets and pillows, you glanced over at the still-slumbering figure on the bed. You smiled. The haunted shadows on his face were gone and he was the very image of peace. You stretched your dormant muscles for a new day and began to prepare your small apartment for both Francis' awakening and the number of guests that were coming over.

In the middle of toasting fresh bread, you felt a pair of eyes on your back. Turning around, you saw Francis sitting upright on the bed, wide awake, and watching you with clear blue eyes.

"Good morning," you said, smiling. "Are you feeling okay?"

Francis, drowsily peaceful, was beginning to look more awake. "Yes. Are you an angel?"

"Angel?" A smile began to curl on your face. That was an odd question. "No, I'm just a person."

He frowned a bit. "You're not an angel?"

"No. Are you feeling okay?" you asked again, a little more concerned. And then suddenly, you realized. "Francis, you're not dead."

The man looked genuinely confused. "I know I'm not dead, I'm just…" He looked around. "Where am I?"

The toaster suddenly rang and you hurried to plate the bread before they burned. You laid the plate on the floor-table and sat down on the smooth, wooden floor. Spreading chocolate on one piece, you took a big, hungry bite before speaking again.

"Do you remember me? My name is [Name], I'm in—or, _was_ in your art class at school." You smiled. "Do you want butter on your toast? Or chocolate spread?"

"Chocolate, thank you." His eyes widened in understanding. "Oh, I remember you. You did the _'Love in Blue'_ watercolor project, right?

As you prepared the toast, you said sheepishly, "Yeah, that was me. Did you like it?"

Francis grinned wide, just as playful as he was when he used to smile at you in class. "Darling, it was gorgeous. It's always been my favorite." Your heart skipped a beat.

"Really? I think Vargas gave me a passing grade for it. And he was right, I guess. I worked on it last minute and I was kind of…drunk when I painted it."

The man swallowed his bite of toast and smirked. "I would've loved to see that."

Your smile faltered slightly. "Ha, I don't think so."

Francis' smile fell completely. He shakily dropped his toast on the plate. His eyes were wide with sudden realization and dark with grief.

"That's—she sssaid that too," he said a little too loudly, as if he couldn't control his voice. "She—I…"

You immediately moved to crouch down beside him, placing a hand on his back. "Francis?" you murmured. "Hey, Francis? Hey, it's okay, I'm here. It's okay now…"

In seconds, the man was crying. His entire expression deteriorated into one of absolute pain. Strangled sounds began to weep from his throat. He crumpled into himself.

Without another word, you wrapped your arms around him and hung on, rubbing and patting and making small, comforting circles on his back. You only made quiet hushing sounds, soothing him like you would a baby. It was a long while before his erratic breathing calmed to trembling to quiet sniffles.

You continued to soothe him until the young man cleared his throat.

"My sister said that," he whispered, "just before she died."

You nodded your head in understanding, continuing to rub his back, asking no questions.

"She…was so sick. And when she opted to get surgery—they—there was an accident—" Francis took in a shaky breath. "—and then, they couldn't revive her. She died on—the surgery table."

He was silent for a very long time, staring at nothing. You bit your lip, hesitating. Should you tell him?

"I…had a brother," you finally said. "We were very close, but then I moved away for a bit for college. And one day, I learned that...he'd been drunk driving and collided straight into another car. He flew out the window and…died." You realized that you were still rubbing circles in Francis' back and stopped. "I locked myself up in my room for weeks after that. I didn't want to go outside under the sun if my brother couldn't do the same."

Francis listened to your every word with wide eyes. "I'm sorry," he said awkwardly. Yet inside, some part of him sighed with relief. Someone understood how he felt. "What…" He hesitated. "What did you do after?"

"I stayed home and grieved for the longest time. But I eventually sorted myself out and one day, I woke up and suddenly…everything was okay. I could finally face myself." You smiled sheepishly. "It's hard to explain. Things just sort of fell into place."

Francis gazed at you with wonder. "I can't imagine that ever happening to me. I don't know if I can just move on like that."

"It's a lengthy process," you said kindly. "It takes time. I didn't really expect it to end. I just thought that…you know, it would go on forever."

Francis held your eyes for a few more seconds, then looked down, but he leaned into your half-armed embrace. After a while, he said, "…you're not married, are you?"

Your face burned scarlet. "No," you said, disbelieving. What a change in subject!

"Then, a boyfriend? Or a lover?" From the corner of your eye, you swore you could see him smiling slightly.

"I've—dated before," you muttered. "But no, not now." What was he suggesting? Not that he and you…

To your surprise, he pulled out of your arms and ruffled your hair playfully. He stretched, and you felt that he wasn't going to say anything else.

Smiling, you got up to grab him a cup of coffee. "Ah, someone called your phone last night," you said. "I think his name was Mathieu. They're coming in a few hours to bring you home."

"Mathieu?" His voice was slightly surprised, as if just now realizing who his friend was. "Oh… Mathieu." Glancing over your shoulder, you saw that he looked a little disappointed.

"Is there something wrong?" you said, somewhat teasingly. "I know you absolutely adore my beautiful apartment, but you're going to have to go back home someday."

xXx

Francis didn't want to explain to her why he didn't want to leave. Here, he was safe Here, he could breathe clean air and live with her easygoing nature.

But out there…

The mention of Mathieu's name reminded him of the demons that awaited him outside these four walls. He finally had a sense of who he was again, but that was only in her presence. What would happen if he left her? Would he be strong enough to stay the same?

No. He wasn't ready yet.

But he couldn't burden her, could he? She had already had enough sadness in her life. What kind of man would he be if he dropped all of his problems on her?

"—Francis?" her voice cut through his thoughts. "Francis, hey, are you alright?"

He looked up, meeting her eyes. What? Of course he wasn't alright. He was going to leave her in just a few hours and he was going to die all over again.

Gears seemed to be turning in her mind. Then she smiled, somewhat shyly. "You're welcome to come back here anytime," she said with a welcome expression. "If you wanna talk or hang out, just call me, okay?"

A brilliant wave of emotion washed over him so suddenly, he had to pause a few seconds before he realized that it was happiness. "I will," he said with all seriousness. "…thank you."

"You're very welcome, Francis. Oh!" you said suddenly, dashing off into the closet. "While you're here, could you help me with the piece I'm working on? I'm not sure if my shading right."

"Really? Let me see, then," his voice floated over to you.

Secretly, you smiled. He sounded so much better than when he first woke up, dare you say a little enthusiastic?

It was a start. A beautiful start.

xXx

"Francis! Hey, Francis!"

"Good lord, shut it! God, could you be any more _obnoxious_?"

"Francis! Where are you?"

An angry snort. "Are—are you _ignoring _me? Hey—no! Get back here Jones!"

"Should I try to call him again?"

"Yes, please do. I think we have the wrong building again. Alfred F. Jones, I will not repeat myself!"

"Good!"

"Why you little—"

_Snap_. "We're in the right place. He should be…let's see…here."

Suddenly, there was the sound of rough laughter from inside. All three men stood in front of the small apartment door, stunned.

"F-Francis?" Matthew said, daring to hope. He exchanged looks with Alfred, seeking confirmation. The American was just as bewildered.

_Knock, knock_.

A pause in the muffled conversation, and then some shuffling around. The door opened wide, revealing a man that was both familiar and strange.

"_Bonjour_," Francis smiled. "Would you like a cup of coffee?"

xXx


	70. The Day After Tomorrow: America

69. The Day After Tomorrow (America)

xXx

_Oh god._

The atmosphere was thick with the scent of decaying flesh. Bodies—both dead and dead-again—were strewn about the rubble of the ruined parking lot in sickening positions. Faces were twisted into grotesque expressions of pain and agony. One of them was twitching. Blood looked like rain puddles, sitting so still that it seemed as if a child would come running in at any moment, laughing and cheering, stomping his rain boots until he was soaked.

_No. No no no. _

Bodies moved behind you, but these were not figures with the scent of death and decay. These were your comrades. Their boots crunched and squeaked as they moved as one, like a finely tuned machine. But for once, their focus was not trained on the dark shadows of the ruined streets or on the bodies littered all around them. They, like you, were dangerously fixated on only one thing.

_No. Please—I—don't do this to me—_

"Boss?" came Romano's shaky voice. "H-Hey, [Name]—"

The sharp roll of thundering bullets suddenly cut through the air. Initial instinct kicked in and everyone snapped up their weapons, hearts pounding. But it was only Ivan, killing one of the survivors.

"The last thing I want to do is be the bad guy," he said, voice thick with an unidentifiable emotion. Another twitch caught his eye, and he shot at it so ferociously that his comrades flinched. It was rare to see him so agitated. "But we can't stay here forever. Wake him up, [Name]. There's no time left."

You couldn't move. Your legs were rooted frozen to the spot. You didn't want to move. Something would break if you moved.

"_Someone_ wake him up!" Ivan snapped.

Startled into moving, you stumbled away from the tightly knit group towards the unconscious body on the ground. You kneeled.

"Alfred?" you whispered.

Alfred stirred, and his eyes slowly opened. He stared at your pale face for a few seconds before smiling grimly.

"Sorry, babe," he rasped. "They got me."

They more than just 'got' him. They ripped him apart. Half the flesh on his shoulder was torn from its bones. He was bleeding heavily, but it was hard to pinpoint the source because of the sheer number of wounds. With this many gashes…there was no way that he _wasn't_ infected.

"Idiot," you cried. Hand grimy with dirt and blood, you brushed back the locks of sweaty hair matted to his forehead. "Damn you—just—damn you. Why didn't you yell out for me? I could've helped you for god's sake!"

Alfred's shaky hand gripped yours tightly. Too tight for comfort. He was in great pain.

"I—you were busy," he half chuckled, half gasped. "Besi—they were already on—my ass before I could—do anything… Hey, don't cry, babe… It's not your fault…"

"Shut up," you muttered. Something warm was sliding down your cheeks. "You kn-know—that it _is_ my fault. I love you—big—idiot—"

You cried openly, trembling with grief. _What the hell were you doing_ while he was getting gutted alive? How _dare_ you let him be overtaken. He had always been there for you, and this one moment—this one mission—you failed him utterly. _He_ was going to be the one to pay the price for your mistakes.

But Alfred would have none of this pessimism from you.

"Hey, babe," he said softly. "I love ya, too. Come on—give me a smile, beautiful. I'll die happy if you do."

"Idiot," was all you could say. But you mustered up the courage to smile anyways.

Something glinted from the corner of his eye. "That's my girl."

He fell silent and you quietly mourned. What you must've looked like to your team. [Name], the big bad boss of the colony, crying like a little girl.

Suddenly there was a loud yelp behind you, followed by obscene foreign curses.

"I can see thirty of them down the road!" Kiku shouted.

"There's ten of them down there!"

"_Fuck_, some are getting up!"

A hand fell on your shoulder. "I'm sorry, [Name]," Ivan said gruffly. "We have to go."

You whipped your head around. "Then we—"

The stern look in his eyes stopped you. "We cannot take him with us."

You stared at him. "But—"

"I'm sorry," he said grimly. "We cannot take him. He is barely holding together. We have to leave—now!"

"No!" you screamed with such ferocity that Ivan actually took a step back. "I won't leave him!"

Ivan's eyes burned. "So are you planning to die here with him? Are you planning to leave us in the dark with no leader to look up to?" When you didn't answer, he roared, "_Coward!_ You selfish _baby!_ How dare you give yourself up when your people need you the most! I thought you were better than this, [Name]!"

"I can't leave him!" you shouted.

"[Name]," Alfred said weakly. "…don't die here. Pl—ease—don't die here like me. I don't want you to die here…"

You spun back to him. "No—Alfred don't say that."

His grip was growing weaker, but his eyes held fast to yours. "I'm expendable—"

"No you're not!"

"—maybe to you. But you…are so important—everyone needs you." A twinkle in his darkening eyes. "Make me proud, babe. I love you. Be strong."

You gripped his hand tightly. "Don't say that," you begged. "I love you—don't leave me. Please don't say that…"

Alfred suddenly gasped for air. "You have to go now. I—I'm changing." With a burst of strength, he violently pushed you away. "Get away from me!" he shouted. "Stay away!"

Ivan jerked you to your feet. You stumbled backwards, not believing your eyes.

"Hey—Ivan, dude—" Alfred coughed loudly, and something thick spewed from his mouth. "Do it, man. Please—I don't want to die—as one of—them—" The man's entire body twitched violently.

Your eyes widened.

"Kill me, Ivan."

If it weren't for Ivan's hand holding you back, you would have wrenched free and buried your face in Alfred's chest. This was beyond words and crying; this was the end of the world all over again.

Ivan forced you to face him. His intense eyes bored into yours.

"If he doesn't die now," he said flatly, "he will turn into a zombie and go after you. Are you ready to see something like that? Are you prepared to let him die like that?"

Reality hit you like cold water. _No_. You would never let him die a monster. Your struggling arms fell limp in Ivan's death grip. He relaxed his hands, but only a little.

Ivan pressed his forehead to yours, and for the first time, you realized that he was trembling as well. "I don't want to kill him either," he said in a low voice. "But I will. He deserves a better death than being killed as a mindless monster. Do you understand me, [Name]? _Do you understand me?_"

Alfred groaned loudly. The sound of him in pain put you in the face of reality.

Slowly, you nodded.

The tall man wasted no time in turning his gun on Alfred. This time it was you who was gripping Ivan's arm fiercely. The fallen American saw his old teammate and the gun, and he grinned his usual rascally grin. "Thanks," he rasped, "and don't forget to—have Antonio finish the job. Make sure—you gotta make me—extra dead."

"Yes, sir," Ivan said sarcastically, though with humor in his eyes.

Alfred choked in his laughter. "Shut up, Braginski . My girl's—gonna kick your ass if you keep up this attitude—soldier. Won't ya, [Name]?"

Seeing the grin on his face, you forcefully grit a smile. "I will, Al. I swear I'll make you proud."

Alfred's eyes were beginning to loose focus. "I know you will," he said softly, smiling gently. Then he nodded towards Ivan, grinning again. "Goodbye, you commie bastard. I'll see you around."

Ivan gripped the gun tightly, taking aim.

"Goodbye…comrade," the gruff Russian said, somewhat affectionately.

Alfred's grin widened, but abruptly it slackened. "Do it!" he hissed. "Now!"

You took one last look of the man before turning away, shoving your face into Ivan's leather sleeve. His entire body vibrated with the firing of his gun, and the throbbing gave you a headache. An eternity passed before the thunderous crackling stopped. You didn't dare look back, instead turning away towards your group of hyperaware teammates.

"Antonio!" you called. "Get over here!"

While Romano and Arthur took over sharpshooting the gathering crowd of the undead, Antonio seemed to know exactly what was needed of him. He left his gun with Kiku and unstrapped the battle axe from his back. The Spaniard walked towards Alfred, head held high, eyes set with a grim expression.

"Come on," Ivan murmured to you, his hand firmly on your back. "We need to leave, [Name]."

At first you resisted him, but eventually you gave up. It was no use anymore. Alfred was…dead. Just like how Berwald was last week. And Arthur's younger brother the month before. All of these names and faces, dead and gone, eroding away with the paranoia of the present. But Alfred was special. He was courageous and headstrong, one of the brightest and most admired in the colony.

And you had promised to make him proud.

"Let's go," you said briskly, walking on your own now. You focused intently on the sound of crunching footsteps and rolling bullets, purposely turning a deaf ear to everything that did sounded like beheading. While Arthur finished off the rest of them on his own, the small band of humans quickly loaded themselves in the armored van. As soon as everyone was in, you locked the back tight and pulled open the passenger door.

For a moment, you hesitated to look back. But you soon shook your head, getting in the car as fast as you could. If he was going to be dead in your mind, he would be dead with a smile on his face.

_I'll make you proud, Alfred_, you swore fiercely as Ivan drove the van like a madman.

_I'll stop the victims. I'll protect them all._

xXx

Promises aside, it was hard to carry out even the most simplest of tasks without being affected by grief.

Alone in your office of the settlement, you sat down heavily on the battered mattress of your bed, head hung low on your shoulders. A tattered picture of you and Alfred smiling goofily was held gently between your fingertips.

You could preach about the future as much as you wanted, but without Alfred, the word 'tomorrow' no longer held any meaning for you.

And considering that it was the end of the world, it didn't have much meaning to anyone else either.

xXx


	71. Movies: Germany

70. Movie (Germany)

xXx

Harassed by flecks of flying ice, Ludwig did his best to shield [Name] from the snow, though his efforts were in vain. It was just his luck that his first date with her would be interrupted by a sudden drop in temperature and an ice storm to the face.

"I guess the movie's cancelled," [Name] said good-naturedly. Her laughter was lost to the winds.

Ludwig felt his heart swell in both disappointment and something else that warmed his frozen cheeks. He was the luckiest guy in the whole damn world to have someone as perfect as [Name] by his side. She was kind, warm, and forgiving, not to mention smart and independent. And if everything wasn't perfect enough, she liked _him_ of all people. Not optimistic Alfred, not charming Feliciano, not even that romantic-as-hell French exchange student. She liked _him_—quiet, weird, giant, awkward _him_.

Ludwig gripped [Name] closer, wondering what kind of bastard winter god was trying to ruin his life.

Leaning a little closer to be heard over the roar of the wind, Ludwig said to [Name], "My house is just around the corner. We should stop there until the storm's gone!"

[Name] nodded absolutely. She could use all the warmth and shelter she could get.

The young couple hurriedly made their way to much-needed shelter in the house beyond the torrent of snow. Sprinting up the porch stairs, doing their best not to slip and fall, the two of them hurried inside, letting the door slam shut behind them with the force of a hurricane.

Inside, Ludwig immediately began taking off his soaking-wet jacket and draping it on the coatrack near the door. [Name], too, took off her winter jacket; she was about to remove her wet shirt as well, but she froze and reconsidered the idea (much to both Ludwig's relief and disappointment).

The house was empty, but comfortably heated. Overtaken by impulse, the young German stripped his shirt clean off. Acting as if he hadn't noticed his own half-nakedness, he immediately made his way towards the hall, saying, "I'll get you a towel." He could feel a pair of eyes watching him as he disappeared around the corner. The feeling secretly pleased him.

While he was searching the closet for a pair of towels, [Name] called out from the living room, "Hey, Ludwig? Can I borrow a shirt, too?"

Oh, how he wished his mind would not wander.

"_Ja_, sure!" he answered back, quickly shoving the bathroom closet closed to clear any lingering thoughts. In his bedroom, he pulled on a random gray t-shirt. For [Name]…he simply chose the smallest shirt he could find (he was sure it would be too large on her anyways).

Returning to [Name], he found her wandering about the TV and its DVD collection. She looked up when she heard him approach and gratefully took the towel and shirt.

"Pick a movie, okay?" [Name] said. "I'm good with anything."

Taking her small bag with her, she followed his directions to the bathroom to change clothes. In the meantime, Ludwig browsed through his DVD collection for a movie [Name] would like. There really wasn't much to choose from. Everything was basically full of action or historical—not too many romance movies here.

A sudden though occurred to him and he quickly checked the contents of the DVD player. Relief coursed through his veins when he discovered it devoid of any…_compromising_ DVDs from his brother's…_collection_.

"Did you pick a movie yet?" said a voice suddenly. Ludwig's heart nearly leaped out of his chest.

"W-Wow," he said, turning. "That was fast…"

Admittedly, his eyes lingered a bit too long on the loose t-shirt hanging from [Name]'s shoulders. (His thoughts… _His thoughts…_)

Blushing (as Ludwig was obviously dumbstruck), [Name] cleared her throat, and her date was brought out of his trance.

"No," he said quickly, trying to hide the pink on his face. He ran his finger along the spines of the DVD cases and pulled out a random movie. It was a mild-action movie, a little romance towards the end and decent graphics. He checked its contents (it was the right movie) and popped the disc into the player. As he was starting up the movie, he didn't notice [Name] idly slipping away into the hallway, so he was very surprised when he turned back to his guest to find no one in sight.

Horrified, he realized that she was wandering about the house.

"[Name]?" he called.

"Over here!" came the sing-song answer.

Quickly coming up with explanations for his brother's explicit decorum, he followed the direction of her voice all the way to the last door—his room. There, he found [Name] lying face down on his neat bedspread, her body sending wrinkles resounding across the surface of the sheet.

"Are you tired?" Ludwig asked, concerned.

[Name] hummed pleasantly. "'m just… This is very relaxing…"

She obviously was quite comfortable where she was, and Ludwig didn't want to make her get up when she looked so at peace (his face was flushed with a bit of pride; it was _his_ bed after all).

Quietly checking the empty hallway behind him (looking for what, he didn't really know), Ludwig turned back to [Name] and hesitantly leaned a knee on the bed.

"Can I…?" he asked.

From where he stood, all he could see was a slow smile spreading across her face. "Of course, you silly goose. It's getting cold over here."

Without another word, Ludwig gently lied down beside [Name], who turned on her side to make room for her boyfriend's large frame. After a moment of uncertainty, Ludwig draped his arm around her waist and scooted in closer so that his nose was buried deep in her hair. [Name] leaned back into his warm embrace, the smile on her face growing wider.

"G'night," she said quietly.

Ludwig couldn't help but smile himself.

"Good night," he murmured.

xXx

_Slam_.

"Oi, Luddy! What the hell? Why's the TV on?"

Once inside, Gilbert shook off his winter jacket free of snow and turned to hang it on the rack—only to find that his usual hook was already occupied by another, smaller jacket.

The young man grinned wickedly.

Putting his pack down, he silently crept past the TV (which was still playing its menu animation) and into the hallway, his ears open for any moans, groans, gasping, or possible bed-squeaking. The camera in his hands subtly turned on.

The door to his little brother's room was slightly ajar, a faint breeze causing it to tremble just a bit. Gilbert listened hard, but his sensitive ears picked up nothing but soft snoring.

Disappointed, he swung open the door to find his little brother cuddling up with some girl on his bed. He recognized her as the girl Ludwig had been crushin' on for the past month. [Name]? Meh, something like that.

The lack of a hot, dirty mess was a letdown. Gilbert took a few pictures of the two (not blackmail material like he wanted, but embarrassing enough for a few laughs later) and left them to their own devices. Hopping onto the living room couch, the older sibling picked up the TV remote and played the movie for himself. From his bag, he drew out his smooth, sleek laptop and switched it on.

xXx

_**The-Awesome-Me has just posted a photo. **_

_hey guys. arent these two fucking adorable?_


	72. Dance: Japan

71. Dance (Japan)

xXx

This rave is everything.

The rave is you.

The music is everything.

You are the music.

xXx

Kiku did not like loud parties.

Awkwardly leaning against the walls of the hot, sweaty club, the young Japanese student did his best to stay quiet and unnoticed. He needn't have bothered because no one was paying attention to him anyways. His dark attire made him one with the darkness, even when the extravagant stage lights exploded with color every other beat. While everyone was so earthshakingly loud, Kiku was as silent as a shadow.

A very uncomfortable shadow.

Peering into the mess of dancing bodies, Kiku tried to pinpoint the location of a very exuberant American—the guy that had dragged him here in the first place and abandoned him as soon as the DJ took control. He considered ditching Alfred completely, but he was too courteous to simply leave him. He would have called his cell, but Kiku was certain that nothing could be heard over the music, not even the sound of one's own breathing.

Two songs clashed together awkwardly, but the new song that started up had _everybody_ screaming for more. Kiku recognized it as a song that had just recently gotten popular on the radio. He liked this song. Without realizing it, his foot began to tap to the beat.

xXx

Oh gosh, they were playing _this _song now?

Outta the way, everybody. It's time to _dance_.

xXx

In searching for Alfred's neon-orange cap, Kiku saw that the crowd had suddenly grown. No, not grown. They were backing up, exploding outwards as if an invisible force had suddenly pushed everyone away. Curious (and a bit alarmed; was there a fight going on in the middle?), Kiku pushed himself off the wall and weaved through the crowd at a leisurely pace, trying to get a good view of the epicenter of the explosion.

Although it took some effort, Kiku was able to slip all the way to the near-front of the encompassing circle. He didn't like the way people bumped into him—still dancing—but all he really wanted to do was watch the spectacle that caused such commotion.

What he saw in the center was disturbingly fascinating.

In the center of the already messy crowd was an even smaller, more compact crowd of dancers. Some were men, most of their tops removed, lean muscles glistening under the limelight. The rest were young women in hardly any clothes at all, bodies writhing and twisting to the music, a dark, vixen gleam in their eyes.

Kiku was about to leave the orgy of dancers when he caught sight of a particular young woman. A number of things struck him as odd; enough to make him stay in the crowd of sweating drunks and wild teenagers.

For one, she had all of her clothes on.

She was also dancing with a blonde man, who hardly had _any_ clothes on.

Everything about her was music. From the way she slid her worn-out sneakers across the stone-cold floor to the way her body rippled to the beat. She threw her arms and limbs out with reckless abandon, her mouth wide, roaring with laughter. The young man she was dancing with—pale hair, electric blue eyes, hairy chest—danced with a fierce passion in his eyes. The girl—wild eyes unnervingly bright—danced with the music boiling in her blood.

For a split second, Kiku's eyes locked with the girl's. Between them passed an unspoken air of…_something_—something that tore the girl away from her partner and towards the hypnotized Japanese; something that made Kiku's foot shiver with anticipation as it slowly moved towards the center of the circle, hanging on the precipice between _dancer _and _spectator_.

At last, Kiku was on the edge of the surrounding crowd and the girl was not a foot away from him. Her eyes intoxicated him, though he was sure that they did nothing but watch him with half-lidded effort.

Kiku could not tear his eyes away from her. He stood, frozen, unable to think or do anything except breathe—and even then, he found some difficulty.

In a flash, the girl curled her adroit fingers under the neckline of his hoodie and pulled him to her. Kiku's eyes widened as he felt a pair of soft lips suddenly enveloping his own. Everything else was so loud he couldn't even feel his own heart pounding against his chest. Before he could do anything else, their lips parted slightly, the girl's lips lingering barely a breath away. They gazed into each other's eyes for what seemed like forever.

At that moment, someone rudely shoved Kiku aside. The girl lost her grip on his jacket and she let go. Stumbling a bit, Kiku had only a few seconds to realize that the crowd—which had suddenly burst apart mere minutes ago—was already beginning to converge again. Kiku had to run like a madman in order to avoid getting trampled on by drunks.

By the time Kiku was able to stumble away from the crowd, the song had already changed and his view of the girl was obstructed by the mass of dancing bodies.

The young man didn't get very far away when an arm slung around his neck tightly. Instinct took over and Kiku was about to swiftly throw his attacker into the ground, but he recognized the wristband as Alfred's and refrained from any serious action. Twisting himself out of his assailant's hold, he saw that it was indeed the American—albeit slightly more intoxicated than before. Alfred said something that was lost in the noise. He then waved his watch around and then gestured vaguely towards the club entrance.

Kiku hastily followed after his friend, dodging tipsy stragglers along the way (an unnecessary effort, as Alfred just mowed everyone down). Eventually, the two of them were able to make it outside the club where a line of people was pushing to get inside. Kiku's ears, which had been ringing with loud music inside, were somehow soothed by the hustle and bustle of city traffic.

"That was the _shit_, bro!" Alfred laughed, a little too loudly. "We should really—need to go come back to there!"

Kiku took one look at him and sighed deeply. "Alfred, what did you have to drink?"

The American blinked his wide, blue eyes. "Aw, shit, all kinds of shit, man. Fuck, there was this frickin' _funky_ ass pink shit some chic bought me… Oh god, that was totally the shit…"

"…we should go. You really need to get home."

Alfred's eyes widened even more. "Fuuuck," he slurred. "Dude, Mattie's fucking pissed at me. He sended my phone—fucking pissed text." Arms up like Superman, he began to run off to his car where it sat, parked, on the side of the road. "I'm coming Maxie! Whoo!"

Kiku hurried after Alfred.

"Alfred! Wait—no, that's not your car!"

xXx

Kiku would accept Alfred's invitation one more time, fail to find the girl, and never go another dance club again.

xXx

"Honda! My office, now!"

Kiku groaned. A few colleagues walking by and gave him sympathized glances. Adjacent in the in other cubicle, Alfred whistled a funeral tune.

"Oooo, did Mr. Perfect forget to spellcheck his report?" he teased.

Muttering to himself, the young Japanese businessman got up from his office desk and unenthusiastically threaded his way through the maze of cubicles towards the large office near the back.

Mentally preparing himself, Kiku entered the room.

"You wanted to see me, sir?"

"Honda, this is Miss [Full Name]," said Ludwig. "Could you please give her a tour of our facilities? She and her company have established a generous partnership with us and she's curious to take a look around." Despite his formal business tone, Ludwig's expression had a hint of 'You-have-no-choice-in-this-matter' in it.

Before Kiku could fully understand that he was _not_ in trouble, the woman that had been speaking to Ludwig stood up from the guest chair and turned around.

Kiku blinked in surprise.

She may have been wearing a perfectly-pressed business suit and donning a professional smile, but Kiku took one look at the young woman and knew exactly who she was.

Four years did nothing to satiate the wild, dancing gleam in her eyes.

"Oh," she couldn't help but say in surprise. Her smile got wider. "Kiku Honda, is it? Ludwig has told me all about you. It's my understanding that you are quite the capable employee."

Kiku struggled to regain composure. She didn't mention it, but he knew she remembered him, and vice versa.

"Ah, _hai_," he said, half-bowing. "Thank you very much, Miss [Last Name]. It is an honor to meet you."

"It's [Name]," she said easily. Turning just a bit so that Ludwig couldn't see, [Name] winked. "Why don't we get started with that tour? I've heard fantastic rumors of a haunted closet on the second floor."

Oblivious to the connection between the two, Ludwig frowned. "A haunted closet?" he muttered to himself.

Clearly dismissed, Kiku opened the office door to allow [Name] to step through. She did so, smiling graciously all the way (Kiku couldn't help but notice the sway of her hips).

"I hope you've finally learned how to dance," she whispered as she walked by.

His cheeks lightly heated, Kiku followed the young woman out the door obediently.

xXx

The next day, Kiku received a call from Alfred.

_"I told you!"_ he nearly shouted. _"I told you that closet was haunted! You should've heard it, there was all kinds of weird noises coming from it when I walked by!"_

"Ah, r-really? What kinds of noises?"

_"All these freaking moans and groans. You know, ghost-y shit like that."_

"I—I think that was just your imagination, Alfred."

_"No, I really heard it! Here, I even recorded it. Wanna listen?"_

"No thank you!"

xXx


	73. Remember When: Austria

**72. Remember When… (Austria)**

xXx

When he told you the news, you could hardly believe he was telling you the truth. Austria was never really one for tricks and laughs, but really, what else could this be? His eyes were tired and his shoulders slouched over. From where you sat across from him, you could even see a smudge on his glasses from when he had been fidgeting with it earlier. If this was a prank, surely this was the most elaborate prank of them all.

Your mind was racing and you didn't really know how to react. Initially, there had been a feeling of shock. And then there had been pity, then glee, then happiness, and then guilt. Looking into his defeated eyes, he was obviously desperate for comfort. But how could you offer him any form of console when you were happy to hear the news in the first place?

"I…" you faltered. "…are you sure about this, Roderich?"

He looked pained. "Yes. I was told…earlier today."

My god, he was going to cry. Austria—the king of Europe—was gritting his teeth, trying to keep the tears from escaping him. Something inside you felt equally hurt by his reaction. Why did he feel so much for her? For years (_Years, damn you!_), you watched over him: fed him when he was hungry, healed him when he was injured. And yet you were no more than a friend to him—like a motherly sister, like a caring companion.

You shoved your feelings every which way in an attempt to refrain from saying something you would regret. Roderich was hurting right now, and he was depending on you to save him from total ruin.

"Hey," you said softly, "don't cry. Come here, sweetheart. It's going to be okay."

You went around the table and pulled him over to the parlor sofa. He followed you, his hand grippingly tense as he held onto you for dear life. Sitting him down, you gently pried his fingers from yours, albeit hesitantly at first.

"Remember when we were young," you said, rubbing your thumb on his hand in comforting circles, "and you had a genius moment and decided that you needed to throw a rock at the beehive in the garden?"

Austria frowned, thrown off a bit by your allusion. "Yes," he said. "You threw your sandwich at them in order to lure them away."

You smiled, happy that he remembered. "But then we ended up running in the same direction anyways and they were chasing after both of us."

"We ran into the lake, right?" he said, a little disgusted at the memory. However, you could see a small smile in his frown. "I ruined one of my best pocket-watches that way."

You grinned playfully. "You used to pretend you were grown up and bossed people around. It was adorable."

Austria scoffed, but looked away, face pink.

You tried not to gaze at him for too long. "We spent the whole day inside, trying to keep warm under the blanket because the lake was freezing. And I… I promised you something… Do you remember what it was?"

For a heart stopping moment, he looked confused. But then comprehension dawned upon his face.

"You said that you…" He paused. "You would always protect me and keep me safe. Right?"

Elation filled your heart, but you didn't show it. "Right!" you said, grinning. You wrapped your arm around his shoulder and rocked him slowly back and forth. "And I intend to keep that promise. This is just the beginning, Roderich; it'll get easier as you go along. Things will work themselves out, alright? "

Roderich was stiff at first, but he learned to lean into your embrace.

"I don't know," he sighed heavily. "I wish that things were different. I wonder what I could've done to keep this from happening." He looked at you with sad eyes. "I didn't want this to happen, [Name]."

You held him a little closer. "But it did happen. And you are no weaker or less strong than before. There's nothing to be ashamed about. All you can do is keep your head up and move on."

Roderich was quiet for a moment. Then, suddenly, he allowed his arm to return your embrace and pulled you further into him.

"You're the best thing that's ever happened to me," he said to you, voice thick. "Thank you for always being here for me."

Suddenly, oxygen didn't exist. You rolled your eyes like it didn't matter, but inside, you were flying high. "Remember? I promised I would take care of you." You nudged him. "Never forget that."

He seemed to not have heard you, gazing at something faraway. But a few moments later, he opened his mouth to speak.

"Right…"

xXx

"…and with the power invested within me, I hereby declare the dual monarchy of Austria-Hungary no longer! They shall now live as separate entities. Long live the federal republic of Austria! Long live the democratic republic of Hungary! May both sides live forever in peace!"

xXx


End file.
